Bring Me Peace
by Lunar Mist
Summary: Personal robots were a new form of technology that learned from experience and adapted to their surroundings.What made me buy one was the fact that once a Personal robot was opened and it "imprinted" on a person, it would only belong to that one person. The idea of having Optimus Prime chatting with me every day had been too enticing to resist, so I "blew my money" buying him.
1. Introduction

1) This was the fic I spoke about in my newest fic. It is a 100-theme challenge, but since I can't really do drabbles, I decided to just base the chapters off of it (I didn't really go into depth on the rules). This is from List 1, and updates will be frequent. Once I write a chapter, I will immediately up it up. My goal is to finish this before summer ends (quite the challenge), so enjoy.

2) This is dedicated to **Thebookfan09, Leonixon, **and **Cairistona.** All three have helped me through some tough times, and I feel the need to thank them for that in the best way I can.

3) Last but not least, I am writing this for all of you who are on this site because of the support, the friendships, and the understanding that only those in a fandom can give. I am writing this for those of you who wanted to meet Optimus Prime, who wanted to banter with Ratchet, and wanted to watch Sunny and Sides fight. I am writing this for those of you who, like me, feel that this site has helped you become who you are. No matter where i am in my writing career, i can always come back here and know I'll get welcoming words and positive reviews. I know that I can bring smiles to your faces, and I know that you people like what I do. So this is for all of you who supported me as I learned all I needed to. Thanks, guys.

4) No, this isn't S&M or anything remotely like it. No [Optimus/OC] action. This isn't like anything I have ever written. I'm trying to branch out :)

5) a penny for anyone who reports any typos or grammar mistakes. I started this in third person, then switched to first. The girl's name isn't mentioned much because I wanted you, the reader, to have the ability to ride in the driver's seat. I want you to be able to be the main character, because I secretly wish I was. :)

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Introduction

1,940 words

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He had been a gift, a birthday present to myself that my parents would have never purchased for me. "A waste of good money" was what my mother called him, and "a useless hunk of plastic that would remain useless" was how my father described him. That didn't keep me from using seven hundred of my well-earned dollars to buy him. I didn't regret that purchase either. Nothing could describe the excitement, the hope, the _relief_ I felt when I received the package from Persobots Incorporated, and I could barely contain myself as I freed him from his packaging.

"My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, and it is my duty to keep you safe from the rule of the evil Decepticons." Those were the first words from his tiny vocal processor, and they were followed by a request for my name. I obeyed without hesitation, smiling at the small robot as I finalized the procedure that made this Optimus Prime mine forever.

Personal – pronounced like the word "personality" – robots were a new form of technology that Microsoft, Apple, Intel, and multiple other big-name corporations had come together to form. The small robot in my hands learned from experience and adapted to his surroundings, much like Sonny from iRobot, and it was widely accepted that that was the movie from which an unknown at Microsoft had gleaned the idea of personal robots for all ages. Like in the movie, there were a series of rules programmed in to ensure human safety, but I hadn't focused much on those things.

The thing that made me buy one was the fact that once a Personal robot's package was opened and the Personal "imprinted" on a person, it would only belong to that one person. It wasn't the kind of toy that could be thrown away. It essentially became your life-long companion, changing roles as it adapted to your lifestyle as you continued to grow up.

The Personal: Transformers edition was the first to come out, Optimus Prime being the only Personal robot available at the moment. Hasbro had just concluded the second season of Transformers: Prime and was more than happy to partner up with the new Persobots Incorporated to design the first wave of Personals. Optimus Prime had naturally been the first choice to design, followed closely by Bumblebee. However, once more companies got involved, Bumblebee's design and production was pushed aside to make room for Ironman, an array of fairies with changeable clothes and working wings, and Superman.

On September 14, 2012, Optimus Prime was introduced to the world as the first Personal robot, and he was currently the only model available, which was why he had been so expensive. I was hooked the second I saw the commercial advertising it. How could I resist when Optimus Prime had spoken about his own great attributes, attributes that would be programmed into the robot I planned to buy. The warnings and rebukes of my parents had been unable to hold me back, so excited was I! The idea of having _Optimus Prime_ chatting with me every day, basically being my personal assistant, had been too enticing to resist, so I had "blown my money" on purchasing one.

"Salutations. It is an honor to be in your service. For the rest of this configuration, I will be imprinting on your vocal patterns and facial features, so as you answer my questions, hold me back, tilt me so that my optics focus on your face, and be sure to speak clearly."

I was quick to obey, holding him an arm's length away and making certain his optics lined up with mine. I didn't want to chance him chasing after a stranger we passed because he misread my facial features. His optics flashed bright blue before returning to their normal dim color, and I blinked in surprise. Was that all? Surely he would need to do more than just take a picture.

"Thank you. Now, vocally select your reason for purchase: toy, personal assistant, companion, tutor, other."

"Companion," I responded without hesitation, shoving all my confusion aside as I caught up with him in the imprinting process. Companionship had been why I bought him. I idolized Optimus Prime rather fiercely. He was everything I wanted in a man, all I needed in a friend. He was loyal and kind, and he didn't judge. He supported the people around him and gave fantastic advice. His amazing voice was just an added bonus. It was why I loved writing him so much: he was such a good person and a truly amazing friend. And I _dearly_ needed a friend.

"Selected: Companionship. Is this correct?"

"Yes," I replied to his monotone questioned.

"Announce age."

"Eighteen," I responded, grinning at the fact that I could finally claim to be a legal adult. True, I wasn't technically free to do whatever I wanted until I graduated high school and started college, but I was still proud of how far I'd come without doing drugs, getting involved in gangs, or other such horror stories her mother told her.

"If lost, what address should I return or request to be shipped to?" I gave him my address, carefully pronouncing each word and number. Each Personal had a GPS installed and maintained the ability to return home if need be. The Personal repeated my address to me, and I quickly confirmed his response. "Very well. You have received a personal communication device that allows me to text, FaceTime, and call you, and vice versa. This device was made by Apple Incorporated, and Apple Incorporated retains its rights. Any attempts to copy, sell, or otherwise misuse this device will result in a fine and up to five years in prison. You may now set me down as I finish downloading and calibrating."

Wow. I hadn't been expecting a warning like that, but I supposed it only made sense. Big companies like the ones that made my Personal would need such protect ion. I blinked idly as I set him on my computer desk and sat in the swivel chair in front of it. My eyes remained locked with his as I reached to the side and grabbed the ponytail holder that I had discarded there last night. He remained still, his face completely blank. Not that I was sure that he showed emotion. After all he was a robot… And on top of that, his mouth guard would hide his smile – if he even had a mouth. I had always been a G1 fan, and I was unsurprised by Hasbro's decision to use Generation One Optimus Prime as their Personal model. He was the most well-known.

"I am nearly done with my downloads. Do you need to hear my care instructions?" the little Personal asked, startling me at the abruptness of his voice. I straightened a little in my chair as I wrapped my shoulder-length blonde hair in a messy bun. I crossed my legs Indian-style in the chair and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees.

"Yes," I responded, grimacing a little at the fact that I hadn't even glanced at the instruction booklet he came with. I had always been the type to teach myself how to use a piece of technology rather than get confused and frustrated by the instructions. Of course, I had never had a piece of technology as advanced as my Optimus Prime was.

"Very well. I run on rechargeable batteries that are recharged by shutdown. During my shutdown, I will be awakened only by loud noises or unfamiliar bio-signatures. I need to be given a sink-full of water once a week to wash out my own joints. If I am broken, please contact your local Personal repairer. Personal preferences may be integrated into my central programming as I adapt to your lifestyle."

I stared at him as he went quiet, waiting impatiently for what would come next. We were reaching the most exciting part of the procedure, the moment when his programming would fully activate and we would interact truly for the first time ever. The robot remained still, though, the only change being the dimming of his eyes. I frowned a little. There had been a notice on the commercial that stated that Persobots Incorporated was still working out some of the bugs in the Personal's programming. Failed startup wasn't one of those bugs, was it? My frown deepened at that thought. I had waited for a good month to finally receive my Optimus Prime in the mail… I didn't want to send him back already. My concerns were cut short when the little robot stiffened, proclaiming loudly that his downloads were complete.

The next moments were pure magic. Optimus Prime suddenly started moving, his movements as fluid as a human's. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot as if trying to loosen muscles and increase blood flow. Once he was finished, he blinked a few times, delicate optics shutters flicking down and back up, and his bright blue optics locked with mine. We stared at each other for a few minutes, the fourteen-inch robot gazing at me solemnly. It was the exact gaze I had always envisioned him having: one that seemed to pierce your eyes to see into your very soul. Finally, I could take the silence no longer.

"Hi," I whispered with a huge smile, pulling my knees up to my chest as I leaned forward in my swivel chair. The robot's optics brightened, and I wondered if he was smiling back. It would take a while, I knew, to learn what all his facial changes meant. As I studied him, I could see the corners of his optics crinkle a little bit, and I marveled inwardly at the amazing craftsmanship.

"Greetings, Commander," he responded, his voice holding a teasing tone that I hadn't expected. Still, I frowned at his statement.

"I'm not really 'Commander' material, and I'm definitely not good enough to work side-by-side with you," I negated evenly. Truth be told, I wasn't sure _any_ human could feasibly work beside G1 Optimus Prime. He was just too… perfect. That was why nobody like Rodimus: because he wasn't perfect like Optimus was. Little Optimus matched my frown, though, with dimmed optics and furrowed optic ridges. I had to fight back a grin at that. Only a true Transformers fanfiction writer or fan would know what those were called.

"Perhaps another name, then. In my culture, an adult can have his or her designation changed by a high-ranking individual." He gave me a strangely teasing look. "And I believe I fit that description. Of course, I can call you by your given name, if you so desire. Marie it was?"

"No, no. I'd like it if you gave me a name," I argued, wincing when he said my name. I _hated_ my name. It meant "sea of bitterness." I've always felt such a name only set me up for failure. "Maybe in a few days, after you get to know me, you can come up with something. For now, call me 'Tex.' It's a boyish name, but all my penpals call me that."

"Ah, yes. Because of your home state," he noted. "Very well. It is a pleasure to be in your acquaintance, Private Tex." I grinned at the added military "rank" and shook my head in exasperation. Obviously, he wasn't going to drop that. No matter… I found that I didn't mind being considered a part of his Autobot army. I had my Optimus Prime, my friend. That was all I needed.

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So... who else wants a Personal: Transformers - Optimus Prime? *raises hand*


	2. Love

1) Loved how much attention this one got, and right off the bat, too! I hope I managed to answer most of the questions in this chapters, and as always, replies are at the bottom

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**2. Love**

1,714 words

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"So what exactly do you enjoy writing? What is your most common genre?"

It had started out an innocent enough conversation. He had asked me what my hobbies and interests were. I had given my response little thought, citing cheerleading, doodling, and writing as my three most favorite. It was a no-brainer, after all. My greatest joy at school was showing off my flexibility, physical strength, and the loud voice I had inherited from my mother. I was the captain of my squad and the primary side base, and I was known for being "that skinny girl that lifts up Clarisse by herself." Cheerleading was what kept me fit, what kept me at my 115 pound personal weight limit, and it was the one thing my mother loved bragging about. Everything else, it seemed, paled when compared to my older brother, Billy, my sibling rival that always seemed to be better, though my parents would both emphatically disagree whenever I brought it up.

Doodling was my at-school hobby, seeing as I was way too shy to let anyone else read my stories at school. I had stopped bringing my stories to school once one of the girl's in my grade took a strange liking to my writing. Yes, it probably should have flattered me that she liked my Inuyasha fanfic, but in reality, it terrified me. Yes, I was a cheerleader, but I was in no way a part of the popular crowd. This didn't mean that I was bullied per se – assuming the boy that relentlessly teased me wasn't considered a bully – but it _did_ mean that I was taking a chance letting her read my stuff. What if she told her "cool" friends that I wrote romance? What would they say about me? The last thing I needed was for some boy in my class to start spreading around that I wrote porn (which, knowing the boys in my class, they would leap at the chance to do that).

So I started doodling. One of my friends was a fabulous artist, and I had picked up a _few_ things from her. Mostly, I drew random crap that looked _okay_ in my sketchbook. I didn't have to worry about anybody staring, and I didn't have to stress somebody spreading any rumors. I was safe.

Of course, that changed once I got home. The second I finished whatever homework hadn't been completed at school, I turned on my desktop and pulled open a Word document, picking up where I left off in whatever Transformers adventure I was weaving for my friends and fans on the fanfiction website. I dove into my story happily experiencing everything that I wrote, describing the movie created by my own mind as it flitted behind my eyes. It was what I loved so much about Transformers, what I loved about writing: I could become anyone I wanted. I could spin my plot however I wanted, and for those moments, I was free. At least, I was until dinner.

My mother was my greatest stressor. While my father didn't exactly support my adoration of the Cybertronian people, but being a trekkie and a Tolkienite, he understood my fandom wiles. Mother, however, was stuck on her Mary-sue romance novels, the ones that I made fun of in my fanfiction RPs.

"I don't understand why you have to write Transformers," she constantly griped. "You're such an amazing writer, and you waste all your talent on those stupid robots."

Only my mother can insert compliments like that while she's nagging me. I could understand her irritation, too. She easily admitted that she loved my ideas, and she loved listening to excerpts from my stories as long as I translated my Transformer-ese into English, changing "optics" to "eyes" and the like. She constantly told me that I could be making big bucks off of these stories if I would only make them human. It was at this point that I usually rolled my eyes, finished my dinner, and left the kitchen.

I knew all my likes and dislikes, and I could easily tell anyone exactly what they were – I had on multiple occasions… Then Optimus Prime asked me. We were sitting on my bed. I was seated Indian-style in my loose gray sweatpants and my tight red tank top, and Optimus was sitting on my pillow with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his arms.

"Oh, I, uh, write romance," I responded with hesitance. Optimus cocked his head a little as he regarded me curiously.

"You are embarrassed by this fact? You do not seem the type to write anything explicit," Optimus noted. My eyes widened, and blood rushed to my face at the very _thought_. I wondered briefly what my new companion would think if I told him that many writers on my site often wrote rather explicit things about his, uh, personal life. Not that I was exempt from that. I may not write explicit stuff, but that didn't mean I kept from pairing him up with my original characters. Heck, I couldn't even think about how many Optimus stories I had written! Maybe he wouldn't ask—

"Perhaps I could read one?"

Oh, lord. Lordy lordy. I fidgeted in my spot, leaning back a little as I started playing with my fingers as I tended to do when I was nervous. Had he seriously just asked me that? Surely my luck didn't run that bad. "I, uh, I don't really think you'd like 'em. I mean, I'm not really _that_ good, and I'm sure you're more into _history_, and and, uh, _science! _Yeah, I could _totally_ see you reading science stuff, and ya know, romance is so mushy and, uh, and—"

"You are reminding me quite painfully of a mech I knew who went by the name 'Bluestreak,'" Optimus broke in smoothly, his gaze even as he watched me stutter and stumble over my excuses. I could _swear_ he was _smiling,_ too!

"Yeah… I got a friend that calls me that…" I admitted with a sigh, subconsciously reaching back to tighten my hairbun. Optimus' optics brightened minutely as his gaze turned knowing.

"You write about me, don't you?" he questioned, a single optic ridge rising as my blush grew.

"No! I mean, yes, but not like that!" I refuted. I groaned when Optimus' optics brightened even more, and he gave a small chuckle. He was _laughing_ at me, the little jerk!

"You know, you should be nice to me," I stated, working to fight my blush. "I hold your romantic future in the palm of my hand. I could pair you up with Megatron or something."

That made his laughter cut of rather abruptly, and his little engine made a choking sound. His optics locked with my eyes, and I smirked triumphantly.

"_Please_, tell me you have not written such a pairing," he requested with furrowed brows. I was certain he was probably grimacing below his mask. I grimaced as well. Personally, I had never been a fan of slash pairings, and I told him so with a shrug. He nodded his relief and focused his attention on me once more.

"If I may ask, why do you write about me?" he questioned, looking sincerely curious. I shrugged again.

"I like the idea of you," I responded. Optimus' optics dimmed in his form of a frown.

"I do not follow."

"Well… You're brave and loyal to a fault. You're supportive. Once you bond with someone, you won't stab them in the back. You're every girl's dream guy. I'd love to meet a human that's half as perfect as you," I stated. His frown deepened.

"I am not perfect, nor would you want to mate a mech like me. No person is without their faults, and while you may love the idea of marrying a man like that, I believe you would find that such a man doesn't suit your needs. You need a man that will complement you, not surpass you."

I stared at the little mech, my eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. Optimus Prime had just given me relationship advice. My life was now complete.

"Besides, I gather there is a man in this world that will complete you fully. You need only wait for him."

Nope. _Now_ my life was complete. My mother consistently made the above statement, constantly told me that there was a man who was my other half somewhere on this planet and we would meet someday. Somehow, _Optimus Prime _saying it made it seem real, made it seem… _possible._ Sure, I wasn't ugly, and I looked fantastic with makeup, something that I never wore. However, with how small my school was, I had no chance with any of the guys, most of whom were taken. I had given up hope on finding my guy a long time ago, replacing that dream guy, coincidentally, with Optimus Prime. I gave the little mech a small smile.

"Until then… I'll love _you_," I announced with a mock-lofty grin. "We may not have a romantic relationship, but I know you won't stab me in back."

Optimus' optics brightened in amusement. He rose unsteadily to his feet, fighting to stay balanced on the soft and mildly lumpy pillow as he crossed his right arm over his chest. "Very well. I shall be sure to guard your spark with my very life. No male, human or Cybertronian, will _ever_ hurt you whilst I still vent." I grinned.

"Thank you, my noble prime," I responded lightly.

"Now, perhaps you will let me read some of your work? I may not be an overly romantic mech, but I believe anything would surpass the last few orns of reading technological manuscripts, educational booklets, and other such boring works of man." I paled again at his request. I didn't like non-fanfiction readers to read my stuff, especially in this case, where the person reading was actually one of the characters (It sounded even _worse_ stated like that!). I didn't even let my _brother_ read my stuff. It was something I couldn't find a reason for, as I knew they would probably just glance over it and give it back because it contained robots. Maybe that was why: I feared they would reject my writing because of its characters, and I knew that was a blow I would not soon recover from. Luckily, I was saved by my mother… sort of.

"Marie! Time for dinner!"

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**Catlover1177:** I'm still thinking about whether to introduce Decepticon Personals. Maybe. It'd be near the middle or the end of the story, I think. Transformers aren't the only Personal robots being made. Optimus was just the first. Personal: Ironman will actually be the next, followed by Personal: Fairies. Lotsa companies are wanting in on the new Persobots. :)

**I Am The Silver Lining:** You are awesome. Seriously, I am friggin basking in your awesomeness. I think I sniggered over the first half of your review. Serious, you are awesome. Have a rust stick. :) And that would be strange. Something sorta like that happens later on. You shall see... In eighty-something chapters.

**Dawn Racer:** I'm trying to crank out 1-2 chaps a day. This is actually pretty easy to write because I don't have to do any big planning, ya know? I got two today, and I might be able to get another one out tomorrow before work or during my lunch break. We shall see! :)

**enmused:** Thank you very much. I didn't think my little Persobots would be so popular. Maybe I should call Intel, IBM, Microsoft, and other such companies. Maybe I can make a fortune off of mini-Optimus Primes! After all, Marie in this fic paid $700 for hers.

**A Wiccan:** ! I haven't seen you in forever! Nice hearing from you, friend! How's life?

**AndromedaAI: **Wouldn't it? I think a mini-Optimus to chat with and get advice from would be amazing.

**Autobot Phoenix: **XD XD XD XD XD

**PepperCornPie:** Eh heh... I have a fantastic imagination. With this one, I actually thought of it when I was wallowing. On Mondays, I'm home alone all day, and it kinda gets me depressed. I was really sad about something, and I really needed a hug, but my dad was at work, and he's usually the one I go to with my problems. So I wallowed, crying pathetically on the stairs in the over-dramatic fashion that I'm accustomed to, and as I questioned what I was to do with my life, I wished fervently that Optimus Prime would be sitting on the steps above me, running a hand through my hair as he whispered promises that everything would be okay and we would figure it out. That scene will appear in twenty or so chapters. Sadly, though, unlike Marie, I didn't have him here, so I figured if I had wished for him to be there before... y'all must have done so as well at least once. This is written partly for me... and partly for y'all. I felt all alone in those moments, like no one else had gone through this before, and I don't want any of my readers ever feeling that way. Even if it's me they send a message to, even if I don't know them, I still want them to have someone to cry to, ya know? :)

And he's... I think i made him 14 inches tall (I keep typing 14 ft, and erasing it, cuz he's not that tall) he's definitely toy-sized because that's what he is: a high-tech toy. They have similar laws, but I didn't really feel like coming up with what they would be. I just want this story to be emotion with a underlying message. I won't likely have the normal intricacies I put into my other fics. That's what makes this one so much fun to write: I don't have to plan ahead. This is all brain-to-page. No filter. Pure emotion. Complete truth and honesty. That's how I plan to play with y'all's emotions in this one. (New writing tactics FTW!)

And I'm uncertain whether other TFs will appear in this. We shall see. As of 2012, which is where this story is right now, Optimus Prime is the only Personal robot that's out, and he will be followed by Personal: Ironman and Personal: Fairies. Hasbro doesn't own Persobots in this; they just did a partnership because Persobots wanted Optimus Prime to be the first one out to ensure a big array of consumers for their first true trial run. :)

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So how many of y'all are like Marie? How many of y'all don't mind posting on here, but _balk_ at the idea of showing one of your classmates? I used to hate it when one of the other cheerleaders would peer over my shoulder and ask, "Hey, Jennifer, wha'cha writin'? Can I read it?" Uh, eh heh, no. And how many of y'all would get embarrassed when Optimus asked to read your romance stories that include him? *blush* sorryformakingyoumakeoutwithmyOC,Optimus... *bluuuuusssshhhh*


	3. Light

1) Do you guys prefer me replying to reviews at the end of the chapter or would you prefer if I PMed replies? Vote on my profile poll, please. (I'm not manually counting every vote in the replies. I'm too lazy for that.)

2) I think some of the reviews are getting lost. I remember reading them in emails, but once I go to write my replies, they're not there. So if I don't reply to your review, go to the review page for this story and glance through to see if they're there. I'm not sure what's going on...

3) Sorry for the delay. Weekends at my house are kind of hectic, so I did what I coudl to get this thing out today. Enjoy!

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**3. Light**

3,436 words

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"Private, your mother has called up here three times already. I believe it is time for you to awaken." This statement was compounded by the feel of a small, plastic hand pressing against my forehead. Obviously, my new Personal doubled as an alarm clock. Fantastic. I groaned loudly as I rolled over to face the wall, burrowing my face in my pillow.

"Tex, you must rise and prepare for the day," my new alarm clock persisted, and I had to fight back a giggle at the feel of a small body climbing over my shoulder and landing on the mattress in front of me. I cracked my eyes open and stared blankly at the little mech, trying to think of a way to make him go away.

"No," I mumbled simply and closed my eyes again. Hands touched my cheek, and I slit my eyes to see that Optimus was kneeling in front of me, optics locked with my eyes.

"Get up. Now," he ordered. Well, shoot. If there was one thing we'd figured over the weekend, it was that I couldn't really resist Optimus' "commander voice." I wasn't sure what is was about the voice that made it so motivating, but I wondered idly if all military commanders had it. It was thirty percent firm, thirty percent gentle, and fourty percent "there will be consequences if you don't obey." It was rather effective.

"Not fair," I moaned as I sat up in my bed, shoulders slumped and eyes staring listlessly at the bed. If there was one thing that could be said about me, it was that I was _not_ a morning person. I could stay up all night and be perfectly fine, but once seven a.m. rolled around… Well, at least mom would find something useful about Optimus: she no longer had to come upstairs to force me out of bed. "I don't feel like going to school," I mumbled as I slunk out of the bed and shuffled to my attached bathroom.

"Regardless, education is important," Optimus responded as he expertly slid off the bed that was twice his size and trotted after me. I hadn't pegged Optimus Prime as a morning person, but I had learned the morning after I received him that he had no problem waking me up at the crack of dawn to observe the sunrise. Who the heck woke up to watch the _sun rise_? It's not like it hasn't risen before. Sun_set_ seems far more magical. Optimus didn't seem to agree, though.

"Well, if you like school so much, you can go in my place," I retorted as I looked in the mirror at my rat's nest hair. Dear lord, my _bangs._ Great. Now, I'd have to actually _work_ to make my hair look presentable. _Perfect_ start to a Monday. I heaved another sigh as I plugged in my straightener in the outlet by the sink and waited for it to start heating up.

"What are you doing?" Optimus asked as he stared up at me from the floor. I yawned loudly before glancing down at him.

"My hair. Man, I'm so friggin' tired," I stated as I reached over to flick on the fluorescents over the sink. I had a full bathroom complete with a bath with a showerhead, a toilet, and a sink set into a large counter. The counter connected with the left wall, and on the right, it was attached to a built in cabinet that was filled with towels. There was a window in between the toilet and the bathtub, opaque in color so that it let light in, but if anyone tried to look in or out through it, they'd only see blobs of color through it. Not that it mattered. The house to my left was only a single story, so the people would have to stand on the roof to see in, and it seemed like that was too much trouble to peep on a girl.

"You did not do this yesterday," he noted curiously.

"I wash my hair every other day. I washed it Friday, so I didn't have to wash it Saturday, which meant that I didn't have to straighten my bangs on Sunday. I washed it last night, though, so I have to straighten it today. Compute?"

"I believe so," Optimus responded slowly, watching closely as I pulled the top half of my hair up into a clip to allow access to the bottom locks. I always tried to straighten and curl from the bottom layers up. It seemed easier that way. There was blessed silence for a few minutes as I started combing out small locks of hair and straightening them. Behind me, the sun continued to rise, sending its blinding rays into the mirror in front of me, making my current task twice as difficult. Stupid sun.

"You are upset," Optimus observed, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Somehow, rolling my eyes at Optimus felt like the equivalent of slapping my father. You just didn't do it. I had to bite back my sarcastic reply of "ya think?" as I forced myself to keep my morning temper in check.

"Just tired," I responded, hoping that was the end of the conversation. Of course, it wasn't. No, that would make the morning too easy. That would make me _sorta_ enjoy the early hour. This was one of the few negatives that I hadn't expected when I spent that seven hundred dollars. Nothing quite like a chatty Optimus Prime to make the obnoxious morning even more joyful. Note the sarcasm there. There was a lot of sarcasm there, and it's important that it's noted.

"Perhaps if you listen to some upbeat music as you readied yourself for the day, or maybe reflected on your dreams, you would be more cheerful in the morning," Optimus suggested helpfully. I held back a dragon-like growl as I let my hair down and twisted the very top layer of hair up before clipping it in the middle of the top of my head, preparing myself to straighten the middle layer.

"I doubt that would do any good," I stated flatly, wondering idly if Optimus _knew_ these morning chats annoyed me and continued it just for laughs. "I'm not a morning person." He knew this. I had told him this on Sunday when he woke me up early to see the stupid sunrise.

"Perhaps I can change that," he responded, a smile in his tone. Little jerk thought this was funny. I huffed as I continued with my hair, curling the very tips under a little to make it look less… limp.

"Good luck with that." After that, there was silence again, and I _basked_ in it. My mother had always joked that I was a dragon lady in the morning because when someone asked me a question, I'd either give a single disinterested hum in reply, or I'd say something very biting or sarcastic that made them think twice about asking me anything else. It was a reaction that I was actually kind of proud of; it set a precedent. Now, nobody asks me questioned in the morning. Except for Optimus Prime. Maybe I'd get a Sunstreaker model when they finally came out with one… Bet _he_ wouldn't be programmed as a friggin' morning person.

By the time I finished my hair, parting it on the left side and curling my bangs carefully to hide the acne on my forehead, the only place where I ever seemed to get acne, the sun had risen so that it no longer blinded me, and my mother was calling for me to be ready in ten minutes. I strode back into my room, hips swaying in a fashion walk that I was actually rather proud of, and I pulled open the third drawer in my dresser. Blue polo and khaki knee-length skirt. This was the story of my life. Went to school with my shirt tucked in and came home in my sweaty PE uniform. Yay for private schools with strict dress codes.

I sighed a little as I started dressing, ignoring Optimus as he dallied around my room, tucking homework in my blue and black backpack and packing my PE uniform and tennis shoes into my gym bag. Little guy was rather helpful for a fourteen-inch robot. I pulled my skirt on over my shorts and tucked my shirt in before zipping the skirt up. I took a final glance in my full-length mirror, fluffed up my bangs with the back of my hand, and made my way to where Optimus stood with my two bags.

"You coming with?" I asked lightly, and Optimus nodded briskly.

"To allow you to be alone would be to ignore my duties," he stated firmly. He jogged over to my nightstand and pointed up toward the surface. "Do not forget our communication device."

"Oh yeah. Just in case we need to sneak outta class," I responded with a grin. Optimus optic-frowned at me, dim blues staring at me with mild disappointment. Dang. I never thought I'd feel guilty just by being stared at by a Personal.

"I can assure you that you will not be avoiding any class time. You will stay in class and gain the good education your parents are paying for," he scolded. I slumped.

"You sound like my memaw," I mumbled as I grabbed the comm link thing and my lame smartphone beside it. I stuffed both into my backpack and zipped it up. "Coming?" I repeated as I shouldered both bags. Were my pompoms still at school? I vaguely remembered tossing them into my locker…

With that idle thought shoved away, I strode from my room and sauntered into the hallway, not even pausing to wait for Optimus as he jogged to catch up. He had already requested once that I not slow down for him. "I will have to learn how to keep up with you eventually. We might as well start now," he had said firmly. I had shrugged and continued down the stairs to dinner.

Oh, stairs. They were the creation of Unicron, if Optimus was to be believed. Each stair was about the height of his legs, which meant that going up and down them was a full-body workout. I had offered to carry him down, but he had turned me down, citing his dignity as well as his Primus-given ability to adapt as reasons for him to navigate the stairs himself. This didn't keep him from mumbling under his breath, though. With the memory of a pint-sized Optimus cursing in Cybertronian in mind, I smiled widely for the first time that morning as I trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen to eat a quick breakfast as Optimus attempted his morning battle with the stairs.

"Morning, Marie," mom greeted cheerfully. _Another_ morning person. I bet if Optimus was an Ironman edition, he and mom would've gotten along like a pig and mud, singing happy morning songs and all that jazz. But obviously, she was prejudiced against Transformers and as such, resented poor Optimus' existence in her house. I shuffled to the pantry and grabbed out my cereal: Captain Crunch: Oops, All Berries. It was so fantastically unhealthy, and I thanked God again that my cheer coach couldn't control what I ate at home, no matter how much she tried. I poured myself a bowl and poured my lactose-free milk in after it. I put the milk and cereal back up before plopping down at the table across from my brother and digging in.

My older brother, Billy, was a strange character who I could describe in two words: annoying perfect. He was relatively handsome, taking all the good features from my mom's side and replacing any bad features with features from my dad's side to make this annoyingly relatively handsome man. He had dad's perfect blond hair and mom's pretty blue eyes, but even if he looked so handsome, he stayed true to his girlfriend of that time, most of his relationships lasting over a year. My longest was two weeks. Not that I slept around or anything; I just had commitment issues. In high school, he had been the varsity tight end, known for his ability to take down the other team's big guys without fear, and even after he graduated, he retained his muscular build due to his job as a mechanic. He was funny, he was caring, and he was loyal. But most of all, he was _normal_.

Billy didn't spend all hours of the night writing out Optimus Prime's romance. Billy didn't have stalkers instead of girlfriends. Heck, the fact that Billy _had_ a girlfriend seemed to make him better than me. I'm pretty sure I scare guys away, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what's so scary about me. Billy had a good job that paid twenty-six dollars an hour. Billy was going to school to be a nurse. Billy, at 22, was engaged and planning a wedding. Billy, Billy, Billy. Marie, why can't you be more like Billy? My mom had only said it once, but once was enough times to permanently lock it into my psyche that Billy was perfect and I'd never live up to his perfection. I would forever be in his shadow. Even the teachers at school first greeted me by "Oh, you're _Billy's _sister! Oh, Billy was my favorite student. I'm expecting _great_ things from you!" That's a great way to begin a school year.

As I ate my cereal, I wondered idly if Megatron had these kind of internal dialogues about Optimus Prime. I wondered if he just got so tired of dealing with Optimus' perfection and the "Oh, you're _Optimus Prime's_ brother? You must _love_ spending time with him; he's so sweet!" that he decided to destroy Cybertron and conquer the universe. If that was his motivation… I suddenly found myself supporting his view of the war. Not that I'd start a war against my brother. No matter how much I hated his perfection, I still love him, and he's still one of my best friends. So instead, I tend to turn my irritation on his fiancée who will be taking him away from me in May a week before my graduation.

"So, is Optimus not going with you?" Billy asked as he munched on a piece of toast. I smiled a little bit.

"He's reenacting that uphill battle from the Civil War," I stated, drawing a blank on which battle that was. It wasn't the Alamo… that was the wrong war. Maybe Bunker Hill?

"A battle that I have won," Optimus claimed flatly as he trotted into the kitchen in all his fourteen-foot glory. Billy grinned down at the robot as he chewed. Out of everyone in my household, my brother was the person that minded Optimus the least. My father no longer glared at the 'bot, deciding that since I've already bought him, he might as well accept his presence, but Billy had taken it a step further and started chatting with him. I'm pretty sure he only likes the mech because Optimus agreed to play Halo co-op with him. Billy loves gaming with other people, even if that other person is a robot. Then again, if you think about it, Optimus is a military commander, so I was willing to bet he'd do good at first-person shooting games. Better than me, anyways. I had a habit of mixing up the "shoot" button and the "grenade" button. Billy didn't like it when I accidentally stuck his character with a plasma grenade.

"So are you excited about your first day of high school?" Billy asked the Personal once he swallowed his toast. Optimus peered up at the man with a shrug.

"I have no feelings about it. On Cybertron, I did not attend the Acadamy; rather I lived with and was taught by Sentinel Prime." Billy looked at me for translation, as he always did.

"He didn't go to school. The jerk in the last Bay movie homeschooled him," I explained, gaining an enlightened "oohhh" from my brother and a nod of understanding.

"Well… you're in for an interesting time. Seniors are laid back. I don't think you'll have a problem," he responded as he rose to his feet and walked his plate over to the sink. I quickly drank the milk from my bowl and followed his example.

"Optimus, let me brush my teeth, and we can be off," I called over to the small Personal that was standing by my backpack. I quickly went through the final steps of my morning routine, brushing and flossing in the downstairs bathroom before jogging back to the front room. I grabbed my silver flats from the shoe closet, checking them carefully for spiders to appease my innate arachnophobia. I slid them onto my feet and strode back into the kitchen to the table where my bags rested. I shouldered my backpack first, sliding the two straps over my shoulders before placing the gym bag strap over my left on. Optimus took the hint and started after me as I walked to the front door.

"I'm headed to school! See you guys after!" I called out.

"Love you!" Mom called back, and Billy yelled something indecipherable from his room upstairs. I grinned as I opened the door and strode out into the humid October heat. Ah, yes. Texas fall; it felt no different from Texas summer. If the weatherman was to be believed, it would reach 93°F today, which was actually rather cool for what we'd been having. Last week, we were still in triple digits. Obviously, a cold front was coming in. Maybe there'd be rain. The humidity was definitely high enough for that.

"You walk to school?" Optimus asked, sounding surprised. I glanced down at him and nodded.

"I walk to the bus stop, and the bus drives me to school," I responded. A car was something I was still waiting on. It had taken Billy a good two years working at the local movie theatre before he could afford his little Dodge Stratus. I had only been working at Glitz & Glamour for a few months and only got paid $8.50 an hour, part time. I was still saving up.

"I was under the impression that your father would not allow you to walk somewhere on your own. He appears to be rather overprotective," Optimus stated, noting his observations from the last couple of days. I can definitely see where he got that idea. My dad and I were closer than anyone else in the family simply because we were so much alike. We were best friends, so close that we played off each other's emotions. When one of us was sad, the other picked up on it and cheered that person up. If one of us was mad, the other also became righteously furious. If one was happy, it made the other one's day. We were definitely the pair, especially lately since my mother had been spending more time in her romance novels than she had with the rest of the family.

"He trusts me to go this far. Everyone in our neighborhood is pretty nice. You'll see that at our next block party," I informed him evenly. We stepped out of the shade of the tree in our front yard, and Optimus grabbed my calf, startling me to a stop.

"Feel the sun," he breathed, his face tilted up toward the sky. I blinked down at him, surprised he could even _feel_ heat. Persobots Inc. did a friggin' amazing job with their detail work. I frowned at him, then did as he asked, closing my eyes as I tilted my head back to the sun, enjoying its radiating heat and light as it shined down on me. I could feel a smile playing at the corners of my lips as my body soaked in the vitamin D.

"I told you I could get you to like it," Optimus teased from below me. I opened my eyes again and gazed down at him with an unimpressed expression.

"I like soaking up sunlight. That doesn't mean I like mornings," I informed him bluntly. With that denial stated, I hitched my gym bag higher on my shoulder and strolled off toward the bus stop, a mini-Optimus Prime trotting protectively beside me. There was no denying that dad wouldn't have to worry about my safety walking anywhere again.

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**AndromedaAI: **I definitely agree. See, now, I don't mind my mother reading this stuff. It gives her something to be proud about, but she really hates Transformers, much like Marie's mom. Heh. Actually Marie's mom is kinda really based off of my mom with components of one of my friend's moms. And I was the same way. Anytime I was writing and someone would kinda lean over to glance at my work, I'd lean over my words protectively cuz I didn't want them to see.

**Agent Or4ng3: **I've never read it. Is it on this site? I'll have to go over an read it! Love me some tiny Transformers.

I agree. I'd love to have a mini-Ratchet or something like that, but I think he'd get on me about my health too much. I'd take a Jazz, but he'd go through all my files on my computer and screw with my iPod files. I'd take the twins, but they would booby trap my room. Maybe a prowl… I bet my mom would get along with a Prowl _very well._ "Jen, go clean your room." "Okay…" "Jennifer, when your mother orders you to do a chore, she means to do it now. Clean your room or you can sleep on the floor tonight." "But, Prowl-" "No. Now."

Do I sense a little bit of resentment toward our live-action director? I mean, I can't say anything. I hate the guy, too. I would probably stick to G1 if I were smart enough to create Persobots.

And thanks! It's good to be back.

**FirstStrike1177:** Lol, ikr?! I would love to have an actually mini-Optimus Prime. Hence, the creation of this story. :)

**Autobot Phoenix: **Yeah, when my friend from the cheersquad read my Inuyasha story, she was like, "You should have them kissing. I really like your character, but I'd like to see her make out with Sesshoumaru." Most awkward moment in my freshman year. I remember when I wrote TaCO, I was blushing the whole time I wrote their first kiss and when I alluded to them having sex. Lord, I'm so green. ^^;

**CodeRed73: **Thank you for the compliments. I certainly try to stay away from Mary-sues, so it's nice to hear that my character is not one. As for your Soundwave request, I can't really say. I'm making no promises in this fic because I'm not sure where I'm taking it. I have very few things planned, so I don't wanna promise something I can't deliver. Remember, it's not just Transformers that are being made into Personals. There's an Ironman, a fairy set, and a Superman slated to come out, and that's just the first few! Persobots Incorporated will make the selection as broad as possible, meaning it will probably be a year or two before they come out with the second Transformer, which will be Bumblebee. They will be hesitant on introducing any Decepticon or _any_ bad guy for that matter because he base programming is the same as the character's personality, meaning: if you buy Megatron, you're likely to be manipulated and killed in your sleep before he teams up with all the other Megatrons and destroys life as we know it. For now, we will focus on Marie and her Optimus Prime. If another bot crawls into my story, then I'll make it work. For now, though, just Optimus. :)

**I-Am-Uniquely-Myself: **Thank you so much for the compliments! I would hope Marie is relatable, because she is very strongly based of myself along with two of my friends that share similar problems with me. Marie is actually one of my best friend's names, and she hates her name because of the meaning. She goes by Elizabeth, her middle name, and you will see next chapter that this Marie goes by Lizzy at school. :)

Lol. I think I'd stick to Optimus Prime. I mean Ratchet would get on my case about my health, Ironhide would be a jerk, Sunny and Sides would screw with my head, Jazz would hack my computer and screw with my music files, Prowl would lecture me all the time, and Wheeljack would blow up my house. I think Optimus is just the safest bet.

**Angel897: **Thank you. Glad you like it :)

**I Am The Silver Lining: **Lol, okay. I have a basic idea for what I want to happen in the future, so I can guarantee a few things. It won't happen exactly how you expect it to, but something like that _will_ happen.

**PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba: **Thank you for your compliments! I strive very much to remain original. I've found that original stories tend to bring in more people than repeats. Hope you enjoyed this one as much as you enjoyed the last.

**Nexia Jazilynn Prime: (chap 1)**Unfortunately, no. Optimus Prime is the only Personal: Transformers that has been developed. Right now, Persobots Inc. is taking in designs and copyrights from DC Comics, Marvel, Disney, Cartoon Network, Mattel, and other big-name companies. Everyone wants to make money off of these new robots, and Persobots Inc. is more than happy to gain money off of those big companies' characters. And sure, you can use the idea. And thanks for giving me the creds. I'm glad to have inspired you. :)

**(chap 2) **Oh, that must have been mortifying. You're first work and they wanted to convert it? I'm glad you found this site, then. I must admit, FF . net is really good at drawing people in. You get honest reviews, and the people here are so nice. I'm definitely happy to be back. Missed y'all so much.

**A Wiccan: **Indeed, it has. At least 6 months for me. Did one of those "disappearing off the face of the earth" things I happen to do nearly every spring. I swear, crap only happens to me in spring. I friggin' hate spring. I think most of the people who came to site chose it because they didn't know anyone on the internet. I came here because I didn't trust anyone I knew with my stories. Didn't want it getting around the school that I liked Transformers. I could only imagine the razzing I would've gotten.

**Chistarpax: **I hear you there. I wish they were real, too. And I dunno if you'd want Jazz. He'd be reading everything you wrote and messing with your music files… and could you imagine the havoc he would wreak if he got bored?

**Guest:** Lol, I'm glad you like it! I hope this chapter was up to your standards. Maybe if I get smart enough, I can talk all these big companies into making technology like this… Hmmm…

**Person whose review I didn't reply to last time:** So I received the review in my email, and I deleted the email because I was certain I'd have it on the site. How I respond to reviews: I go to the story, click the reviews number, go to chapter (#) reviews, respond to all the reviews on that page at once. However, both times, your reiew wasn't on the page. I know because I remember reading the email and feeling so bad that I had somehow skipped you. However, I didn't have a review on my review page this time around that matched he one in my email. I looked back through my deleted emails, but Yahoo won't allow me to go that far back in my trash file. So, I would suggest PMing your reviews to me if you want a reply… Unless 'm going crazy, because I've looked up and down this review page, and I swear you're not there…

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Anybody out there have an obnoxiously perfect sibling that you still love despite how extremely jealous you are of their perfection? Sorry about how little Optimus time there was in this one. I needed to start introducing her family, though, starting with her big brother.


	4. Annoyance

1) Chapter three, and I'm now going out of order with the themes. This chapter just sorta took a life of its own. -_- Whoops. Luckily, one of the other themes fit the description, so I lucked out. enjoy

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**4. Annoyance**

1,921 words

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I was probably the only cheerleader in the school that chose to sit with my true friends at lunch instead of the cheer squad and football team. It was nothing personal – assuming they didn't take it personally that I would rather talk about politics and books than who Tammy's going out with tonight and whether they'll go all the way and if she'll get expelled if they find out she's pregnant – but it was a choice that got me weird looks at times. Our cheer squad had fifteen girls on it, and it was distinctly split into three cliques that made maintaining practice nearly impossible. My inter-squad clique was five girls that were more down-to-earth than the other ten, and they made practices and road trips much more bearable, but they weren't my true friends.

No, a small group of six people and a single straggler took that honor. Savannah was easily my best friend. We had met my first year at this campus, and she had a very dry humor that no one else really appreciated like I did. Second place went to Dylan, a black boy that held the position as the football team's running back. We actually met via my big brother. Dylan had some sort of hero worship for him and befriended me to become friends with my brother. Unfortunately – or perhaps _fortunately – _he started liking me more, and we became best friends. Next would be Julianna, the fashionista that was a part of the ragtag group before _I_ was, and the last three were Mikaela, Cassie, and Maddie.

The "straggler" has a story all her own. Margaret Clemmens was a skittish girl that had somehow wriggled her way into our group. I think the thing that attracted her was the fact that we were all too nice to say "no" or tell her to go away. Margie was a strange girl, reading books that we had never even heard about like _Acorna: The Unicorn Girl _and getting frustrated when we didn't want to read them with her. I was fairly certain that if I wasn't embroiled in my own fandom, I wouldn't have minded reading through those books, but I simply wasn't interested in half-human, half-animal stories. To make things worse, Margie had a habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, getting angry over the smallest things. I could recall her shrieking at me for noting that her orange parka looked nice. Apparently, the parka wasn't orange; it was _red_, and how _dare I_ make such a mistake! It wasn't just me she got mad at either; a lot of the kids in my class liked picking on her just because they knew they'd get a funny, explosive answer. It didn't help that her father was the Biology teacher and had similar problems with his temper.

I met Margie in one of my classes. The boys were making fun of her drawing, and I had told them to lay off. I had taken some lip about my bottle-blonde hair, but I didn't explode like Margie did. I coolly reminded the boys who my on-again-off-again boyfriend was and informed them that Dylan had no qualms in beating the crap out of them if they starting bullying me, and if he was busy, I always had my 6'5" big brother to call on. Billy and Dylan would never hurt someone, but these idiots didn't know that. They reluctantly returned to their classwork, waiting for the teacher to return to the room. From that moment on, Margie decided I was her best friend. Unfortunately. She kinda made me dread our approaching senior trip to New York. Chick cramped our style something awful.

"So… wha' can he do?" Dylan asked, staring wide-eyed at Optimus, who was standing in my lap, his optics _just level_ with the table. I rolled my eyes at my fellow senior as I took a bite of my pasta. Mondays were Italian in my school cafeteria, which meant I could eat what I wanted. Carbs were good for cheer practice.

"Anything you can," I responded. "And don't talk about him in third-person. This mech's as sentient as _you_ are."

"Ah…" was Dylan's genius reply. He looked mildly uncomfortable, but this didn't surprise me. Dylan was the only other person in my school that liked Transformers as much as I did. He didn't like G1 – he said it was too cheesy – but he liked Bayformers, much to my chagrin, and he enjoyed Transformers: Prime. Optimus was one of his favorite Autobots, too. "Hi, Optimus."

"Salutations, Dylan," the red and blue mech responded evenly, leaning back against my chest so that he got a good view of everyone's faces. "Private Tex mentioned you yesterday, and it is an honor to make your acquaintance."

"Wait, 'Private Tex?' Didn't wanna give him your real name, _Marie?_" Julianna teased. I grimaced. I allowed my family, close and extended, to call me Marie, but at school, I went by "Elizabeth," my middle name.

"I am aware what her true name is, but I desired to gift her with a new one. 'Private Tex' is a temporary alias she will go by until I can discern a suitable designation for her."

All eyes stared at Optimus as if… well, as if he were an alien. I knew exactly what was going through their minds, too. It was a joke among our clique that I was a walking thesaurus. Not even kidding. For my eighteenth birthday, they got me a thesaurus and wrote a long note on the back page to me. It was a strangely thoughtful gift, one that came from my large vocabulary. I thought it was funny, personally. A huge vocabulary came with advanced writing, so I hadn't expected them to be so surprised by it. My friends only discovered it when Mikaela needed synonyms for words on an English assignment. Seriously, it's not hard to come up with synonyms to the words "walk," "run," "say," "understand," and the like. She asked the table generally what the synonyms to the word were, and I just started spouting out words. Hence, the walking thesaurus.

Now my little Transformer spoke like a Hallmark card. Fantastic.

"Wow," Cassie said. "I can see why you got this model instead of waiting for Batman to come out. You two are a perfect match."

"I didn't want Batman," I argued. "He'd snoop through my stuff, and there's a lot of embarrassing thing I would rather keep in the dark from my sentient robots."

"Hey, what's the story on those things, anyways?" Maddie asked. "They're made in the US, right?"

"I believe so," I responded as I lifted the mini-Autobot onto the crowded table. Realistically, these tables were made to fit six people, and we always crammed in 8+ people. Sometimes, some of my cheerleader gals would come sit with me whenever there's a temporary inter-squad quarrel. I'm Switzerland. Optimus gave the table a slightly disgusted look – there were messy teenagers eating there, after all – and he made his way to the center of the table before sitting criss-cross facing me in the middle on a clean spot.

"I was created in Raleigh, North Carolina. Persobots Incorporated only uses American-made components in their Personals, as well," Optimus chimed in. We all glanced down at him before all gazes returned to me. I shrugged.

"He'd know best," I stated blithely. Optimus nodded at my statement, and I went back to eating as my friends turned their attention to the mech on the table.

"So, do you work kinda like Siri?" Julianna asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the table as she focused solely on the little 'bot. Optimus Prime's optics dimmed a little as he accessed the internet to discover who "Siri" was, then his optics brightened again when he focused on her.

"No, I am far more advanced than a simple virtual assistant. My language recognition skills as well as my adaptability greatly supersede that of a cellular phone."

"Yeah, he's more like I, Robot, remember? I read an article about him," Savannah broke in. Mikaela gave her a concerned expression.

"You don't think they'll freak out on us like VIKI did in that movie, do you?" she questioned, ever the suspicious person.

"Most likely. The government's probably making them just to learn all your secrets," Savannah replied with a sly grin. Mikaela's eyes went wide.

"She's _kidding,_ Mikki," Maddie interjected, glaring at Savannah, who only smiled back innocently.

"Red Alert?" Optimus questioned, turning his attention back to me with a raised optic ridge. I grinned back at him.

"And Inferno," I responded, gaining the confused attention of all the people at the table.

"You two really _are_ made for each other," Julianna stated with a frown.

"Why did you even buy him?" a voice questioned. All attention turned to Margaret, who had ended being the odd one out today who couldn't sit all the way at the table. At our table, the first seven to get there got to sit up against the table, and the last one had to squeeze in nearby, but wouldn't be able to place their food on the table. Today, the unlucky one had been Margaret. She sat between me and Julianna, but she still had about a foot between her and the table.

"Because I wanted to," I responded evenly, wondering why she was even bringing that up. Did one _need_ a reason to buy a Personal? Once they were more affordable, I could guarantee that almost everyone would have one. Except for Mikaela. Savannah had probably taken any such desire own one away with that comment about the government. Margaret frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she took a clump of her huge homemade "hot pocket" and tossed it in her mouth chewing slowly at least ten times before she spoke again, and she didn't swallow before she opened her mouth, much to my disgust.

"It seems like a waste of money to me," she stated, and I felt my teeth grind at the familiar words. "I mean, Personals are around seven hundred dollars, aren't they?"

"Yes, but he's _worth it_," I stated, holding back the urge to snap at her. How dare she question my motives? What business was it of hers what I bought?

"Well, it's not like he's this special thing. He's just a toy," she pointed out, and I scowled at her.

"To you, perhaps, but he's _my_ friend. Don't assume things you know nothing about," I snapped. The bell rang, thank God, and immediately rose to my feet, ignoring the girl who had sat beside me as I tossed the rest of my pasta in the trash. The sauce had tasted nasty anyways. I grabbed Optimus gently off the table and joined the flood of students heading out the door behind our table. Dylan and Savannah jogged over to catch up with me, but I ignored them, too, focusing on the Personal who was sitting on my arm like a toddler, small hands fisted into my shirt as he looked up at me in concern.

"Are you alright, Private?" he asked as I navigated the hallway to my locker. I gave him a small smile.

"Of course," I said evenly. Now that I was away from my clique, I had to adopt my normal, cheerleader persona that everyone else in the school knew me by. Strange how different Cheer Captain Lizzie was from Fanfiction-writer and Book-reader Lizabeth. "Just a small annoyance."

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**Chistarpax:** You say that now. Once he starts switching the names of the songs just for laughs, you might change your mind. And I totally agree. Mornings are the worst, especially when your mom wakes you up in the morning singing. Ew.

**A Wiccan:** Aw, man, that sucks. I feel for ya. I know people in my school were not forgiving at all. Once they found out something about you, they raked you across the coals just because they needed someone to pick on. It's sad to say, but the greatest day of my life was when I figured out that I just don't care what anyone says. They're opinion doesn't affect my life. Once I stopped letting them see how much it hurt, they moved on to another target. Graduation was still the greatest day of my life, though. Finally got away from all those jerks, and now I get to hear from their friends as they're lives fall apart. Apparently, in the real, grown-up world, nobody likes a bully. My brother was always this shining person. Every girl loved him, every guy wanted to be his friend, and he was just so sweet. He was that typical country boy that everyone loves. Then you got me. I'm not anti-social, but i don't get into the gossip, and I very rarely have boyfriends. Why? I dunno, but it bugs my mom because my brother's been married two years now, and I'm coming up on 21, and I've only had three boyfriends in my whole life, and none of those relationships lasted past two weeks. I think my mom thinks I'm defective, because I _am_ pretty, just not pretty enough, I guess.

* * *

Anybody ever had that _one friend_ that you never really befriended; they just kinda latched onto you? I had about five of those. I used to be that nice person that will talk to the people everyone else ignores, that told off the bullies. Unfortunately, that gained me a lot of friendships i didn't really want and a ton of creepy guys that fell in love with me because I stood up for them. A lot of them became stalkerish, so Dylan, who you met in this chapter, became my "Senior bodyguard." We had the same classes so he basically hung out by me and sometimes pretended to be my boyfriend to keep the stalkers away, hence the on-again-off-again part. Sigh. Life in a private school.


	5. Memory

1) Yup. Officially just gonna keep doing in out of order. These monsters are taking lives of their own

2) This will probably be the last one tonight. I gotta write on Saving Graces tonight after I pick up my mom from work. A bientot!

3) Don't forget to vote on my poll!

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**5. Memory**

1,728 words

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"Okay, umm… if you were in an impossible battle, say there were three battalions of Decepticons headed your way, what would you do then?"

"I would call upon the Wreckers and send for a few gesalts."

"Okay… what if Megatron came up and threatened to kill Prowl?"

"I doubt we would have that problem. Prowl is remarkably difficult to kill."

I snorted in amusement, not looking up from my doodle as I listened in to Dylan and Optimus' Q&A session. I was currently drawing an army of stick figures taking on stick-figure dinosaurs as I waited for my physics teacher to show up. He'd take roll, then I would go back to drawing and ignore his lecture. I knew from experience that listening in was unnecessary. Mr. Charlton was a really nice guy, but he was kind of a pushover. I knew from the last exam that the whole test would be made up of word problems and formulas, and I knew he would write the formulas up on the board and identify each one before the test to make sure we knew which one was which. Texas required us to take physics, and we did. Didn't mean we _learned_ physics.

"Wha'chu laughin' about, Liz?" Dylan questioned. At the moment, he was sitting sideways in the desk to my right, and both of us were seated in the second row. I preferred the second row because it communicated to fellow students that I was not a suck-up and told the teachers that I was likewise not a trouble-maker. Besides, football players were required to sit in the front rows. The coach got tired of getting complaints that his players were sleeping in class. Dylan lucked out. There were seven football players in the class, and only six front row seats. The second I had sat down in my seat, Dylan had sauntered up, slid into the desk beside me, and lifted Optimus onto his own desk where he started playing "What if this happened?"

"I'm laughing at my humorous Personal," I responded, glancing up when one of my acquaintances – not close enough to be a friend, but someone I could easily carry a conversation on with – walked past.

"Hey, is that one of those new robots?" A tenor male voice asked. I glanced over just in time to see Brendan sit down in front of me. Brendan – not to be mixed up with red-headed quarterback _Brandon_ – was the varsity wide receiver. He was a short Asian who hid his smarts with humor and was one of the more popular kids in the school, but not for the reasons that you would think. Brendan was remarkably good at making fun of you while making you think that he's laughing with you. It was something that he was rather infamous for. I didn't particularly _like_ him, but I didn't exactly _dislike_ him, either. I could have intelligent conversations with him over documentaries on Netflix, yet I despised seeing him pick on some of the other kids. We just kind of coexisted. He understood that I would be his "friend" as long as he didn't make fun of me, and as long as he kept that mouth shut against me, I had no problems humoring or ignoring him.

Such was this case.

Brendan was sitting sideways in the desk, facing the right in a position that must have been uncomfortable because his legs would be squished by the bar that connected the desk to the seat. He didn't seem to notice though as he stared curiously at my Optimus Prime.

"Yep. Optimus, this is Brendan. Brendan, this is Optimus Prime, my Personal," I introduced. Brendan grinned.

"Cool, man! Is he really as smart as the commercials say he is?" the Asian asked eagerly. I snorted a little.

"Optimus, what's nine hundred and sixty-four times seven hundred and ninety-nine?" Optimus' optics dimmed as he ran the calculation and a second later, they brightened again as he announced, "Seven hundred and seventy thousand, Two hundred and thirty-six."

"Whoa. Does he do all your homework now?" Brendan asked with a sly grin. Optimus Prime vented loudly at that question.

"I would never assist Tex in cheating, nor would I condone such actions," he stated, optics narrowed as he began to figure out _just what_ this boy was about. It proved another one of the traits I assumed Optimus had: he was a good judge of character.

"He sounds boring," Brendan decided. "A real stiff."

"He's better'n _you_," Dylan chipped in. "This guy right here? He's got 'is own _army."_

"Hey, that's one of those new personal robots!" a cheerleader named Mallory squealed, and just like that, a crowd grew around us. Not many people asked questions as most people knew about Personals and how they acted and learned. Most people just asked me things that confirmed what they knew: did Optimus act like the fictional character, did he really completely shut down at night, was he overprotective, was he expensive… Things like that. Someone asked the Personal himself a question about the Autobots, and they were treated with a full dialogue about the Autobot war against the evil Decepticons. Then they started asking questions about Cybertron…

"Is your planet really dead?" someone called out. I'm sure it was meant as a joke, asked the non-sentient robot about its fictional home and see what it says. However, Optimus wasn't non-sentient… and his planet _had_ died. Depending on which season he was programmed for, he may still think Elita-One is dead. I understood that my classmates didn't understand this – how would they know? – but the look that washed across Optimus Prime's face made my heart break.

"Okay, guys, that's enough!" I called out, reaching over to lift Optimus out of the spotlight. I lifted him gently under his arms and sat him in my lap, cuddling him close with my left arm while I leaned forward to continue my stick-art doodle, effectively hiding my mech between my body and my desk. The crowd gave groans and words of disappointment, but I ignored them as I continued with my drawing. I was saved in the end by Mr. Charlton walking in and ordering the class to be seated. After he said my name and I responded with a loud "present," I pointedly reached into my bag and pulled out my cellphone, making a show of hiding it in my left fist before raising my hand.

"Mr. Charlton, can I go to the nurse to get a cough drop?" I asked, my eyes wide with innocence. Mr. Charlton gave me a flat look, and I responded with an innocent "cough, cough." This gained an eye roll from him, but he nodded. It was common practice for seniors to ask to go to the bathroom or to see the nurse so that they could skip on class. Most teachers didn't allow the kids to go – they knew the students were just skipping. Who takes fifteen minutes to get a cough drop? – but quite a few, like Mr. Charlton, simply didn't care. I was a favorite student anyways. If there was one thing that me and my brother had in common, it was that we made good grades and stayed out of trouble. I'm fairly certain I took advantage of my good teacher/student relationships far more often than Billy did, but that's all water under the bridge. Teacher's pets for the win!

I rose to my feet and sashayed toward the door, Optimus still curled into my chest. I ignored the questioning look I got from my teacher as I strode out the door and started down the hall as the door shut behind me.

"Are you okay?" I asked the little Transformer. Optimus uncurled so that he was seated in the crook of my elbow, my right arm on his left shoulder, holding him in place. He didn't look at me, only stared ahead as we exited the science section and moved across the gymnasium that connected the science, math, and history section of the school with the rest of it. The nurse's office was actually detached from the main building, located in the building that housed the chapel and the cafeteria.

"I hadn't thought of home… My planet does not exist here. My friends, my Autobots, Elita-One… they do not exist. It… It hadn't occurred to me…" Optimus whispered. I felt my heart break for him. I hadn't thought of it either, hadn't even considered that the creators would have to program memories of Cybertron into him. What he didn't remember, he could simply look up online.

"I'm sorry." It was all I could think to say. Useless, empty words that helped no one, fixed nothing. He sighed as I stepped out of the gym building and into the heat.

"When we left Cybertron… I intended to return. There were no doubts in my processor that no matter how long it took… I would return home. I would go back to Elita, and we would make a family together. The war would be over… We could be happy… I remember the cycle before we left… Elita came to my office and _begged _me to spend my final moments with her… But I couldn't. I had to ready the ship. Prowl already had enough on his plate, so I hugged her, kissed her, and sent her away with the promise to return. And I never did. Frag," Optimus cursed, and I looked down and frowned at how dim his optics were, how his face scrunched up in internal strife. It wasn't fair; he didn't deserve this. "I apologize-"

"Don't. Something like this shouldn't be bottled up. You said that you have a duty to protect me? I have a duty to you, as well, and I'm going to try and keep you happy until Persobots Inc. comes up with an Elita-One design," I promised. I wasn't really good with the whole "cheering people up" thing, but I could _try_. Optimus seemed to smile at me.

"And I will strive to keep you happy as well. We shall make _new_ memories together. We shall learn together how to be happy." I smiled down at him, taking joy in determined expression. Mission accomplished. Good work, Private Tex.

"Now, perhaps you can explain to me why you are skipping class to get a cough drop when you are very obviously not unwell."

* * *

**Nexia Jazilynn Prime:** I got _very_ lucky with Dylan showing up. He enrolled just about the time my best friend Megan stabbed me in the back. It was a very hard couple of weeks, but then Dylan showed up and turned my world around. Now he's dating some glitch that doesn't like me because she thinks I'm trying to steal her man because, ya know, girls can't be friends with guys without wanting to date them or have special _benefits_.

I got nothing against the Acorna series, to be honest. I didn't even mind that she liked to talk about them. What ticked me off and kind of put me off was that she'd get so _mad_ whenever I turned her down whenever she tried to loan me one of the books. I had no free time in between writing, school, and cheerleading. *shrug* It was her personal problem.

**Chistarpax:** I couldn't do that. My OCD requires I pay attention to what I'm listening to. Recently, my iPad has been mixing up the cover art with wrong songs (Because Selena Gomez does _not_ sing French), and it's driving me insane. And don't get too used to these updates. It's just because I'm off today and felt like slacking. I should have spent at least an hour on my French lesson. Tomorrow, I'll have work so I probably won't update, and if I do, it'll be late.

**Autobot Phoenix: **:D Glad I could change your mind ;)

* * *

Something I hadn't even thought about when i created this: what happened to Cybertron? Obviously, Optimus has memories of it, but on that same note, he _knows_ it doesn't exist, _knows _that he was created in a factory. Interesting turn of thoughts, no? A weaker mech would lose his mind. I didn't fit as much


	6. Words

1) Nothing really to say... You guys remember when my ANs used to be around seven points long? Now, I'm just like, "Meh."

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**6. Words**

4,268 words

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Glam & Glamour was the single most popular daycare center for girls in our area, and I had the pleasure – or misfortune, depending on how you viewed it – of working there. I was currently employed as a glamour girl, otherwise known as a glorified babysitter that plays dress-up and pretend for hours on end with little girls. There were a lot of sparkly clothes, fake child-safe makeup, a miniature hair salon, and other girly things. It was basically a little girl's dream come true. And unfortunately for Optimus… I had to work there this afternoon.

"I am uncertain about this, Private," he stated from his perch on the "mirror shelf" I was standing at. In our school's girl locker room, the upper half of one wall was completely taken up by a humongous mirror, and just under that mirror was a wall-to-wall shelf that had multiple outlets just underneath it. I was currently utilizing the shelf and an outlet. The curling iron I kept in locked up in my changing room locker was plugged in and warmed up to 360°F, and my hair dryer was sitting off to the side, already used and discarded.

"Optimus, there's really nothing to be afraid of. There's only about sixty little girls there at a time, and we've got plenty of supervisors making sure everything's safe," I assured him evenly as I removed the clip from my hair and started curling the top layer of hair.

"I do not fear injury, Tex. I fear endangering your job. I have never been good with children – "

"But that's what you're programmed to do!" I argued incredulously. "You're a _toy_, Optimus." Optimus made a flustered sound with his engine.

"Be that as it may, you did not activate my toy programming. I was made to be a toy, yes, but my memory states that I was not in charge of the sparklings on Cybertron, Elita was." I frowned at him.

"What about Bumblebee?" I asked, grimacing at a curl that refused to curl correctly. My inner perfectionist balked at the growing thought that I might have to give up on this curl and just let it be free to curl looser than all the others. Optimus frowned.

"Bumblebee was primarily in the care of Ironhide and Chromia," he informed me. "I had little input on raising him."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. I had read enough fanfictions to gather that while Optimus hadn't been the primary caretaker, he had still been very involved in the minibot's upbringing. Apparently not, though.

"You assumed different?" Optimus questioned wryly. Over the last few days, he had quickly grown to the fact that I had many preconceived assumptions about his past, his personality, and his beliefs. I gave him an amused look, one that told him I knew he was teasing, and turned my attention back to the stubborn curl.

"Well, if you're really that nervous, then you can stay in my backpack locked in my locker. No sticky-fingered children will find you there," I offered. Optimus grimaced.

"You know I could not allow that. It is my duty to protect you," he claimed, never one to give up his duties. I sighed loudly as I gave up on the stupid curl and moved on to the next one.

"Optimus, I highly doubt you need to worry about five- and six-year-olds beating me into submission," I informed him lightly. He grunted in disagreement.

"I refuse to allow you leave my sight. I… I believe I would worry too much over you," Optimus explained hesitantly. "You are the only thing I have in this world." I stiffened at this admission and looked down at him with wide eyes. Well, that was unexpected. I wasn't quite sure how I liked that statement, either. It had once been my dream to have someone that _needed_ me, someone that loved me so much and had no one else to turn to. If they had no one else, I didn't have to worry about them leaving me, about them stabbing me in the back.

But I hadn't expected that once that happened… I'd feel this guilt. I was _literally_ the only person Optimus had in this world. Suddenly, I felt so insufficient. How could I add up to Ratchet or Ironhide? To Bumblebee or Jazz? Pit, how would I measure up to _Elita-One?_ Yeah, I wasn't pushing for any type of romantic relationship – he was a toy and a robot, no matter how sentient he was, and I wasn't any sort of deviant – but I _was _the only female in his life right now. He'd want someone to talk to; a confidant. He couldn't really have that with me.

"Uhm, well, on Mondays, my glamour gift is royalty…" I began. Translation: On Mondays, I had to dress up like a queen and pretend to rule over the many little princesses I would be taking care of. I couldn't continue the sentence, though. I had explained my job description and how our "glamour gifts" worked to my Personal yesterday while we got used to each other's presence in my room. I was uncertain what Optimus could do with this bit of information, though.

"Very well. I am the Lord Prime of Cybertron. High-caste events are not out of my social range," he responded as he watched me unplug my iron. I strode to my locker where I kept most of my work clothes. Every day, I wore whatever I needed to work, then I washed the clothes and brought them back the next day. I was actually lucky that I got this job as a senior because we got the biggest lockers. Though my locker was thin, it was tall enough to hold the dress that I was supposed to work in today. I gingerly reached in and pulled it out.

My outfit for today – for every Monday – was a simple white Grecian sweetheart dress made of taffeta and embellished with pleated ruffles. It was actually rather exquisite for a glorified babysitter, but no one ever said Glam & Glamour did things halfway. I kept my back toward Optimus as I pulled off the tank top and cotton shorts I had donned after my locker room shower.

"Optimus, I don't think these little girls are going to view you as the Lord Prime. They're going to view you as the fun, new toy I brought with me for them to play with." I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Optimus wince, so I quickly went in for the kill. "You'll probably end up with the role of 'baby' while they play house." This time, Optimus' wince was pronounced, and I could sense the grimace under his face mask.

"Primus bless… Still, no matter how difficult or how… _humiliating_ the task is, I have a duty I cannot abandon."

"_Optimus,"_ I groaned in exasperation as I shimmied into the dress and lifted the bodice to make it easier to zip up. I grimaced a little as I started doing my weird arm dance where I attempted to twist my arms awkwardly to reach the stupid zipper.

"No. I will not be swayed. Come here, and I will assist you with your gown," he ordered, and I obediently trudged over to him, shoulders slouched in defeat as I held the bodice up to cover myself, as if Optimus cared about seeing anything. "This is a lovely gown. Did you purchase it yourself?" he questioned as I turned my back to him. I had already gotten the zipper halfway up before he called to me, so he only had to zip it from the small of my back to my shoulder blades, the part that was always hardest for me to reach.

"No. My employer purchases them. The manager takes us out shopping the day of orientation. We have to pay them back for them if we work there for less than a year."

"I see," he responded as he finished zipping me up with only a little bit of difficulty. I turned to face him, reaching for my now cool curling iron. "You look very elegant. I believe no other high-caste femme could hold a candle to how you look right now."

I blushed – oh, how I _blushed! –_ and looked down at myself as I touched the taffeta ruffle at my thigh. I had never been called elegant before. Heck, my father was the only one who had ever called me "beautiful." My brother had once commented that I looked "pretty" once, and Dylan had noted one day that I "looked like a girl." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but I had taken it as such. With Dylan, _everything_ was normally meant as a compliment. When I looked back up at Optimus, he was frowning.

"Th-thank you," I stuttered as I wrapped the cord around my curling iron. I grabbed my hair dryer and walked them to my locker. I grabbed the high heels that went with the dress as well as a pair of comfortable moccasins I had been given. I slipped the moccasins on my feet and did a quick lock-up, stuffing the remaining clothes into my gym bag. I slung my backpack over one shoulder and the gym bag over my other, setting the heels on the flat top of the gym bag before holding my arm out to Optimus. He frowned.

"I do not want to wrinkle your dress," he stated. I rolled my eyes. The thing I loved about leaving my dress in the locker room was that the volleyball girls basically steamed the wrinkles out when they took their showers in here. The vents in the room were old and barely worked, so after school, when cheerleading and volleyball was over, chatty girls filed into the locker room to shower and dress in one of the three shower stalls, giving my outfits around an hour of steam cleaning. It was pretty fantastic. Like today, I normally waited until everyone was done and getting ready to leave before taking my shower. The locker room echoed, and all the mirror space and outlets were normally taken, so it was just better to wait it out. Normally, Dylan waited for me. In fact, he was probably standing outside the locker room either flirting with any girls that exited or mumbling about how long it took girls to get ready for the day.

"I work with little kids, Optimus," I pointed out. "They won't notice." Optimus gave me a pained look as he gingerly sat on my forearm right beside my bent elbow, his little hands gripping my shoulder. Somehow, I knew he was avoiding my dress, seeing as he usually gripped my shirt for balance, and I was thankful for his thoughtfulness, because I _really_ didn't wanna accidentally flash someone. With all my stuff loaded up, I strode from the locker. I held my dress up with my free hand as I walked through the connecting bathroom and smiled when I exited to see Dylan leaning against the wall, staring up at the ceiling with such an appearance of boredom that I had to laugh. His eyes flashed to me, and he grinned back.

"'Bout time!" he teased, pushing off the wall with a grunt. "Wasn't sure you was gonna ever come out!"

"Hey! Perfection takes _time_, thank you very much," I responded in a lofty voice. Dylan locked eyes with me before reaching down to grab his bags.

"And perfection you are. Ya look like a girl, Liz," he stated with a smile. I rolled my eyes.

"Thank you, Dylan. I needed someone to reaffirm that for me," I teased back as we strode outside toward the senior parking lot. I didn't have a car yet, but Dylan did, and since our jobs were close to each other, he didn't mind dropping me off for work. It was what besties did for each other, according to Dylan.

"So, what's Optimus gonna do while you work?" Dylan asked as he opened the trunk to his blue 2012 Chevy Camaro. It was a collective birthday gift from his mom, his dad, both sets of grandparents, and one of his uncles. We called it Carlisle because, let's face it, a Chevy Camaro would never be seen as a female car ever again in our eyes. Curse you, Michael Bay.

"Apparently, he's hanging out with me," I responded as I dumped my gym bag into the trunk. I shifted Optimus over into the arm before dropping my backpack in after it. Dylan snorted in amusement but didn't respond as he shut the trunk and moved up to the passenger side of the car. Optimus and I shared a glance.

"Dylan's reaction to my situation is not reassuring," Optimus informed me seriously. I smiled down at him.

"Don't worry; I'll keep you safe," I promised.

"Hey, Liz, we leavin' _today_ or do you wanna sit and chat wit' 'im for a while?" Dylan called back from where he was holding the passenger door open for me. I smiled at him as I strode forward and seated myself in the low bucket seat, carefully arranging my dress so it wouldn't get caught in the door.

"He is quite the gentleman," Optimus commented as Dylan jogged around the front of the car.

"His momma raised 'im right," I informed him.

"Okay, so now that the group's gone, can ya tell me what exactly went down between you and Megan last week while I was away?" Dylan requested as he slid his key into the ignition. Carlisle growled to life, his Camaro engine rumbling with power. I grimaced at the question.

"I already told you. Nothing," I responded as I pointedly stared out my window. Dylan scowled as he backed out, watching behind him for any idiot that felt like being funny.

"Yeah. Ya told me nothing. So tell me some'in' now," Dylan returned, purposefully twisting my words in hopes of get a response.

"Dyl…" I began, then I sighed. "Not now. Please?" Dylan huffed irately.

"Liz, I love ya. You're mah best friend," Dylan informed me. "But I can't protect ya if ya don't keep me up ta date. There's a lot of rumors –"

"Yeah, I know," I snapped. I hated him in that moment for bringing this up in front of Optimus. Even if Dylan didn't get anything out of me now, Optimus would ask later, and there _was_ no lying or avoiding a topic with Optimus. "Look, Megan got pissed because Zach went out with me. She spread some rumors, did some damage, but it's all over."

"Does it got anything to do with why she wasn't at our table today?"

"I'm not some _helpless victim,_ Dylan. If she wants a war, I'm more than happy to fight back. I've got more firepower and more connections than she does."

"I didn't even know you and Zach was datin'," Dylan responded with a frown, glancing at me from the corner of my eyes.

"We're not. I seriously don't even know what she was so upset about," I admitted. "We went and saw _Hotel Transylvania_, then we ate at Chili's and talked about what our respective summer camps were like. He talked about football. I talked about cheerleading. We ate. We went to our respective homes. End of story."

"Well, I ain't heard nothing from Zach in the locker room, and I ain't her nothing from any of the other guys, so I know he ain't the one spreading the rumors," Dylan noted. I shrugged. I actually wasn't really as upset about the rumors as I was about the person spreading them.

"Can we talk about something else? I mean, this really doesn't matter because nobody believes the rumors anyways," I pleaded, completely honest with my words.

"Okay," Dylan agreed. "How was cheer practice?" I brightened.

"Great! Clarisse only knocked the air out of me once! And no black eyes!" The conversation digressed from there to the dangers of cheerleading versus the dangers of football, and despite the cheerful conversation around him, the little Personal remained silent.

* * *

We arrived at Glam & Glamour about ten minutes later, and I opened my door the second he parked.

"Liz!" Dylan called, grabbing my wrist before I could stand out of the car. I paused, looking back at him with a frown. He seemed to hesitate, debating his words before he spoke. "I'm on your side. If Zach's the one spreading the rumors, I'm gonna kick his a-butt," Dylan promised, cutting off his curse word when I gave him a warning look. My swear jar was legendary amongst my clique.

"Dyl, I'm not worried about this," I informed him. "You shouldn't be either. Now pop the trunk."

I stood from the car as Dylan obeyed. I helped Optimus readjust and find his balance on my arm, and we had just reached the back of the car when the engine cut off. Dylan stepped out and jogged to my side, reaching around me to grab my backpack and gym bag. I sighed loudly as I grabbed my heels and stepped back to let him close the trunk.

"You're really taking this 'Southern Hospitality' thing a little too far," I informed him flatly.

"I jus' wanna help," he whined, widening his eyes for effect. I rolled my own hazel orbs and strode into the building, Dylan trailing behind me after he slammed the truck closed. We entered the huge building, and as always, Dylan shuddered before scurrying along the wall to the lockers against the wall.

Glam & Glamour could be easily classified as a huge dream house for little girls. In the far right corner was a huge castle with carpeted stairs, hallways, and balconies with high railing that little girls couldn't climb over. The castle was painted pink, and the inside held a throne room, a jewelry room, a small kitchen area with fake food and fake ovens and such, and a bedroom with a big bed for sleeping princesses. The thing was built so that it looked like the girls could only see the bottom portion of it, appearing as if the tall spires appeared above the roof.

Beside it stood a huge plastic 20-foot-tall tree that worked as a jungle gym for the little girls pretending to be wildlings and fairies. The tree supported walkways that twisted around toward its branches, and a big treehouse was situated at the top. Nets lined the walkways for safety. The bottom of the tree was hollowed out to make a pixie art room, where girls could color, paint, and sprinkle "pixie dust" on whatever they pleased.

To the far left, opposite the two fairy-tale structures, a large stage was set up with a karaoke machine, stage lights, and a microphone. Perfect for little popstars that are ready to sing to their tone-deaf hearts' content.

Then directly across from the door were the "salon," the "dress shop," and the "supermarket." Glam & Glamour employed two hair stylists who needed the extra cash, and their only job was to do little girl's hair. Popstar, princess, fairy. It didn't matter; the stylists came up with something. G&G also ensured that the stylists had a huge supply of disposable combs and hair accessories to reduce the chance of lice and other such hair problems.

The dress shop was a room that was set up like a clothing store with dress-up clothes that went over the girl's clothes and were returned and washed at the end of each day. A woman worked in there to make sure girls got the right sizes and everything stayed clean and tidy.

The supermarket was the final area. It had little hand-held baskets, and the girls could walk through the supermarket and buy whatever they wanted to cook. Then, they went to the "self-checkout," where they scanned each item, "paid" for it, and left to cook in the palace.

As I mentioned before: Glam & Glamour doesn't do things halfway. The building itself took up about half a football field, give or take a few yards, and at the moment, it was crawling with little girls playing their make-believe games and glamour girls trying to keep up.

As I walked along the entry wall toward the personnel lockers hidden in the front left corner, I glanced down at my strangely silent Personal. Optimus hadn't said a word since Dylan sat in the car, and I had a sinking feeling I knew what he was thinking about. Well, might as well get this over with while I had a good excuse to quit the conversation. If I broached this at home, I'd never get him to back off.

"So… changing your mind?" I asked lightly. Optimus jolted a little as if startled from his thoughts. He glanced around at all the children as if seeing them for the first time, then peered up at me.

"I have no doubts that you will keep me safe from these children's exuberance," he stated. "Would you like to tell me what Dylan was speaking of?" Of course. Well, I suppose it would be better to let him know the cruelty of high school now: when our relationship was at its start.

"A friend of mine, Megan, got jealous because a guy asked me out, so she went around telling people that I was… _intimate_ with the guy. It's okay, though, because I got her back." Optimus frowned at that.

"Though I dislike her spreading rumors about you, I doubt revenge was the best response," he informed me. I shrugged.

"It's not like I ruined her reputation. I just made some of her friends understand how cruel she can be. As I said earlier, I have connections."

"That does not change the fact that you hurt her in return, and you now have no idea how she will retaliate." I sighed.

"Optimus, high school is kind of like war. It's a dog-eat-dog atmosphere, and if I don't strike back, people think I'm weak."

"Forgiveness and mercy are not weaknesses," Optimus chided.

"No, but striking back sets a precedent. Nobody else will spread rumors about me now," I returned as I arrived at the lockers. Dylan was already stuffing my gym bag and backpack into one of the slim lockers

"And the rumors she spread about you?" Optimus asked, his voice layered with concern. I smiled down at him.

"They're just words. Words can't hurt me. I'm not worried," I responded, and I wasn't. Megan might have been able to spread lies about me, but I was the captain of a _cheer squad,_ all of whom had the ability to gossip with each and every person they walked past. Megan had chosen the wrong girl to mess with. I knew Optimus was about to reply, but I had to slide my time card and get to work, so I hugged Dylan and said my goodbyes. I placed Optimus on the floor as I pulled off my moccasins and replaced them with my four-inch gold stilettos. With my full outfit complete, I strode the few feet to the time clock, grabbed my card from above the clock, and punched it in before returning it to its spot.

"Okay, Lord Prime, you ready?" I asked as I held my arms out to the small Personal. Optimus nodded as he stepped into my arms, seating himself on my forearm as I walked toward the castle, where I would be working today.

"Those shoes appear rather painful to walk in," Optimus noted as he glanced around my arms to gaze at the back of my shoes as I walked. I grinned at his statement, the same statement that millions of men around the world had made.

"Eh, you get used to them. It just takes time and—"

My words were cut off with the cheerful shout of "Queen Elizabeth!" That title alone made my whole day worth it. Yeah, I was definitely nowhere near as wise or leadery as the true Queen Elizabeth, but there was a part of me that snickered whenever they called my name. It was the same part that snickered every time I heard my grandmother mention her foot surgeon, Dr. A. L. Pepper. Dr. Pepper. For some reason that was hilarious to me.

"Hello, my little princesses!" I greeted as I was quickly surrounded by a small swarm of girls dressed in pink, blue, and purple dresses. "Ladies, this is Sir Prime, my noble knight. We have to play nice with him because it's his job to make sure nobody gets kidnapped. Everyone understand?"

"Yes!" came the synchronized response. I grinned at them.

"Very good. Now, let's head to the castle. I am quite in the mood for tea. I don't suppose any of you little princesses knows how to host a _tea party_, do you?" Just like that, the crowd dispersed, some going to the castle and others going to the supermarket. I, however, moved directly to the throne room, moving around the castles internals until I found what I was searching for. I sighed happily as I sat on my throne and looked down at Optimus, who sat in my lap.

"See? Not so bad. I think you'll be fine." He looked up at me, sighed, then leaned back against my chest.

"I don't suppose you wish to continue that last conversation, do you?"

"Nope," i responded easily. He sighed again.

"Very well, my queen. When shall this mystery kidnapper appear?"

"Our evil sorceress for the day, Chloe, should be here around four-thirty. That's when we'll have to worry."

"Very well. Let us commence the tea party."

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**Angel897: **Thank you, my dear! I'm glad to have entertained you. :)

**I Am The Silver Lining: **Sadly, he won't. Persobots Inc. is busy with Marvel, DC, and Mattel. The next Personal: Transformer won't come out until Jan of 2014, two years from this story's first chapter, and that will be Autobot Bumblebee. Seeing as Persobots Incorporated is actually a pretty small company that hand makes every part and develops its own technology, they have to take a lot of time coming up with designs, technology, and pre-made robots to sell as demands grows. Elita-One is low on the priority list, especially when they can sell Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and other such popular Autobots.

**Autobot Phoenix: **Thanks. I worry that my mouth will hurt too much to talk the next day, and my job requires speech, so I needed to know if I would wanna take the next day off, ya know? Thank, though. :)

**A Wiccan: **:( I feel for ya. Everyone knows that I write fanfiction, but few care. I don't give my username out to my friends (I was super pissed when my friend Lynn gave Dylan my username.) Nobody knows that I write romance, though. I just tell them it's science fiction. It's good that you have that support, though, even if it's only from one person.

**PepperCornPie: **My thoughts exactly. My mom actually pondered that one to me when I was telling her about this story. I could only imagine the pain of knowing that none of your friends exist and in reality, none of them may _ever_ exist.

And yes, these are my true friends (under alias in this story, of course. The except being Dylan, who told me I could put him in my story if I made him sexy *eye roll*) And yes, my physics teacher was just like that. He only let the seniors get away with it, though. He knew we didn't care about the class, and his heart was in biology, so he just let us blow the class off. I, personally, had the class after lunch and generally spent the entire class sleeping. It was rather glorious.

**CodeRed73: ***snicker* In the e-mail, it blanked out the word "blow" like it was a cuss word. *snicker* Aw, you make me blush! And you make Dylan blush! I'll have to let him know that you think he's awesome. He's such a sweetheart. And believe me, by the end of the first semester, we all hated Margaret, too. We just didn't have the heart to kick her out. *le sigh* And believe me, she was a pain in the aft _before _Tex got the Personal. *grumble*

Oh, hey! Love meeting my fellow Texans! Okay, okay. Um… favorite fast-food Mexican restaurant, favorite country singer, and most hated creature in Texas: Go! And it's on the top of my profile. It's just questioning whether you'd prefer me answer reviews via PM or at the end of my chapters.

**PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba: **Lol, I guess you get tired of repetitive plots? That's my pet peeve for this site. Too many people copy other people. And you'd actually be okay. Once the Personal imprints on you, it _can't_ belong to anyone else, so once your thief goes to sleep at night, your Personal will sneak out, access his GPS, and return to your home address with documented proof of the thievery if you wish to press charges. :D Best. Toy. Ever.

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen:** Ikr?! I would _love_ a Personal: TF! I wish I could will my ideas to life. DX

**Jaacs McHenry: **That makes sense. I was reading online, and everyone just said it hurts a little. I didn't believe them. Thank you for being honest with me. And thank you for the compliments. :)

**SunnySides: **Huh… That'd actually be kinda cool, to be considered the third trine member… Tell you what, you'd have some friggin' loyal Personals at that point… Interesting idea, though.

**Jim: **Omg, I know! I play my iPad when I do my hair, and it's half impossible to find the song I'm looking for because I usually search via album cover. Gag me! I don't know how to fix it either! I tried syncing it and everything, but _no_. Itunes _has _to be difficult. Maybe I'll google it…

**Anonymous: **No. No OP/OC romance in this. Maybe OC/OC, but I'm not sure. And I agree. I don't think they thought it through. Or maybe the programmer wasn't thinking when he wrote the memories into his programming. Who can say? He was a prototype. Prototypes are supposed to have mistakes. Besides, I think they were concerned that if they left out _anything_ in his past, they'd change his personality in some way, ya know? I understand their thinking, just don't agree.

* * *

Glam & Glamour seems like it would be such a fun place to work. Anybody else got any dream part time jobs?

And on another note, revenge is not a good thing. The things Elizabeth did here, the things I foolishly did in the past, are not things you should _ever_ think of doing. Elizabeth is luckier than me in this because she won't have the consequences I did (or maybe she will. I'm still deciding), but revenge _never_ makes things better. It only creates more anger and a harsher retaliation. Turn the other cheek. Forgive. You don't need that kind of bitterness in your life.


	7. Misfortune

1) This one just sorta wrote itself. Some days at high school are just long, and it seems like those long days are the days where your best friend is sick at home. This spins off that. This should be the last one that focuses solely on tex. From here, Optimus is going to become more centered in her life as they adjust to each other.

2) Editted

3) this apparently didn't show for some people, so I took it down and reuploaded it... heres to hoping

* * *

**7. Misfortune **or

**Lizabeth's bad day**

8,019 words

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"I'm home," I announced dismally as I trudged through the front door. I was met with silence, and I gave a little sigh as I strode through the foyer past the stairs to the back living room. Sure enough, mom was sleeping in her chair, a romance novel resting open on her lap. I stared at her blankly for a few seconds, taking in her curly brown hair and pale white skin.

I scowled as I turned around and limped back to the stairs. Of course she wouldn't be awake when I was home. No, _that_ would imply that she _cared_. Heaven forbid she _care_ that her daughter had come home late from school, sorta severely injured. Then again, I wasn't sure why I _wanted _her awake. If she saw me, I would only brush her off and tell her I was fine. I didn't need any coddling. I was a legal adult now. I could take care of my own problems.

I resisted the urge to stomp up the stairs in a spiteful attempt to wake her up. That would only make my knees hurt worse, and it probably would attract more attention than I wanted. Instead, I limped quietly up the stairs, muttering Cybertronian curses when the stairs creaked or my leg gave a painful twinge. I reached the top of the stairs and made my way down the hallway to my room at the end.

Man, what a day. I had known the second I rolled out of bed and found Optimus scanning through one of my story spirals that this would be a bad day. I must admit that Optimus had chosen a good spiral to start with. Well, good for me. That spiral held a story about a sparkling mech that was adopted by the Wreckers. No romance, only fluff. Now, if Optimus had grabbed the blue spiral below it… my thoughts would have been completely different. Optimus had immediately apologized, stating that my filing system (or lack thereof) had drawn his attention. He had mentioned something about "old programming offlining difficulties" and "Alpha Trion would have a _fit_."

Apparently, he had onlined earlier than me and had noticed my effective filing system of stacking multiple spirals and books on top of the other into huge, leaning towers that taunted gravity constantly. Apparently, he thought he would be helpful by alphabetizing the spirals and books and placing them on the empty bookshelf that I had bought for that specific reason but never used. Of course, he had no idea what was _inside_ each spiral. Ever since I started writing my ideas and stories in spiral, I never labeled anything in hopes that my parents would never look through my spirals for my journal back when I _had_ a journal. It had become a habit that I never felt the need to change. After all, _I_ knew what was in each spiral, and I was the only person who _needed_ to know.

"Optimus, I don't mind you reading my stuff, just stay away from any blue spirals, okay?" I requested. "Some organization might actually do me good." Optimus beamed at the approval, then hesitated as he glanced back down at the spiral that was spread open on the ground in front of him.

"I… I must admit I rather enthralled by what you have here… I don't suppose you would allow me to… finish it?" he asked slowly, almost bashfully. I blinked in surprise, then, of course, blushed down to my toes. _Optimus Prime_ was enthralled by my writing. _Optimus Prime!_ It was like… like… There wasn't even a _comparison!_ I resisted the urge to squeal in delight as I smiled at him and nodded.

"Sure. In fact, why don't you stay here today? I don't have any of those stories titled yet, so you'll have to put together a new filing system. And you'll have to read a lot of those spirals."

"But Tex, I have to—"

"Optimus, I can take care of myself for one day. I don't have work today, so the bus will bring me home."

"Yes, however—"

"Optimus, please. You don't want to be at my cheer practice today," I interrupted again. Tuesdays were always "try something new days," something that the squad as a whole actually looked forward to. Sometimes, girls got hurt on these days. Personally, I rarely did, but I didn't think Optimus would respond well to _any_ of the girls getting injured.

Optimus frowned but nodded, trailing after me as I began my morning routine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was still kind of annoyed that he had looked through some of my stuff. What if he _had_ read the blue spiral? I wouldn't be able to look him in the face again knowing that he had read something I wrote about _him_. I sighed inwardly, as I shoved the irritation away, chalking it up to my normal morning grumpiness before finishing my morning routine and heading off to school, my shoulder feeling empty, even though I had only taken Optimus with me once: yesterday.

Ah, school. Such a wonderful place of peer-pressure and torture. My morning started off with a pop quiz in Algebra 2. I failed it. Then, as I was leaving the classroom, I tripped over the door jamb, landing hard on the concrete and shaving off a large patch of skin from my left knee. Cue my first trip to the nurse. I was subjected to her tender mercies of peroxide and a huge, uncomfortable bandage before being sent off to Spanish class, where everyone else was turning in the homework that I had accidentally left on my computer desk at home. Fantastic. I managed to convince my teacher that I had simply forgotten it at home ("Of course, Elizabeth. That happens every now and again. Even Billy had those days. Just bring it in tomorrow, and I'll only subtract a few points." "Muchos gracias, Senora."), but she managed to put my brother on his typical pedestal three years after his graduation.

I suffered through that class, mildly bored with the language I didn't particularly want to continue after high school, and spent the class wondering what a French class would be like. The bell saved my sanity, and I limped out of the class toward English/Literature, another boring class. Don't get me wrong; I _love_ reading, but nobody could make literature boring like Mrs. Walburts. I slowly read through our assignment – "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allen Poe – then stared at her blankly when she moved to the front and attempted to get some sort of feedback about the short story from us. Nobody said anything, knowing that if they offered a response, they would be told to "expound on that idea for the class." There was nothing quite like restating your basic thought in multiple different ways. I'm sure she was just trying to get us to think deeper, but in a class of high school students that didn't particularly want to be lit majors… I personally thought she was expecting too much.

After that class, I went to History class, where I learned of gory battles, various wars, and basically how the Europeans took over the world before America decided to be rebellious. My teacher for that class was Coach Rogers, and he didn't really know much about history aside from who won the first American Revolution and whether the Nazis won the Civil War. According to him, though, Europe basically wiped out everyone else who lived in America, Canada, Australia, and China in the early 1800s. We never questioned him. It was too amusing to watch him butcher American history. And besides, the tests were hilarious.

After that, I headed off to lunch. As luck would have it, _Megan_, the glitch who spread the rumors about me and Zach, was seated at my table, looking like she actually _belonged_ there. I spared her a glare, silently thanking God for giving me the wisdom to leave Optimus at home, as I walked past, pointedly refusing to limp as I moved to the back of the cafeteria where the non-existent lunch line was. That was the other fantastic thing about Coach Rogers: the guy _always_ let us go early to lunch, mainly because as seniors, we can leave campus to get food, and it normally took extra time to get everyone piled into cars. I always stayed on campus, though, because most of my friends were juniors and therefore not allowed to leave. Sometimes I went with the cheer squad. I kinda wish I had today.

But I didn't. Of course, Megan was completely incapable of leaving me alone, and she stalked after me, grabbing a tray behind me as she stood in line to my left.

"I heard what you said about me," she hissed. I gave her a sideways glance.

"I would hope so. That was the plan when I started saying it. French fries and a salad, please," I requested from the lunch lady, who smiled at me, then gave Megan a _look._

"You know, I never figured you for the type to stab someone in the back," Megan stated primly. I gave a single incredulous laugh.

"Are you the kettle or the pot?" I questioned with a scoff. Megan scowled.

"The kettle since pots are fat," she growled. I shrugged.

"I'm more fit than _you_ are," I stated, my accent growing with my ire. In _no_ _way_ was I considered _fat._ I was rather proud of my 115 pounds. Billy may have gotten momma's blue eyes and blond hair, but I got her hour-glass figure, and I was _not_ afraid to flaunt it.

"Whatever, _Marie_. I know that you went out with Zach just to make me jealous, and if you think this is it, then you've got another thing coming," she stated. I gave her a condescending look, my lips pursing in a cute pout.

"Oh, bless your heart," I simpered. "I feel for you, Megan, I really do," I told her as I grabbed my lunch from the cafeteria lady with a thankful smile. I got a smile in return before I strode off to the cashier. Megan was quick to catch up with me.

"Then why did you do this? Zach won't even look at me, none of my friends wants me around. How could you do this to me?" she demanded, having the audacity to look hurt. I scowled at her.

"'How could _I_?' You think I don't know 'bout all the things you've been sayin' 'bout me buhind my back? You think I c'n ignore the lies you been spreadin'? Megan, I used t' be the person tha' that was there for you, and you did _this_ to me? I ain't some _victim_ you c'n bully then come back to. I don' need yer drama, _thanks_."

"What, you think you're _better_ than me? You proved that we're _exactly_ the same, rumor fer rumor. Nodoby's gonna wanna be yer friend now. You're just like _me_," she hissed. I snorted and grinned back at her.

"Only prettier!" I chirped. "Le'me know when yer ready fer roun' _two."_

Thus ended _that_ confrontation. I knew there would be some other sort of retaliation in time, but I didn't care at the moment. I only cared that she felt as much pain as I felt when I found out she betrayed me. You see, I'm that person that's loyal to a fault and will defend my friends and stick by them to the very end. Once you return my friendship, it takes a lot to break my trust. However, once you break that trust, I'll never forgive you and never trust you again because I simply can't stand that kind of pain. I didn't let _just anyone_ into my heart, and nothing hurt as much as someone ripping my heart apart from the inside.

With a dark frown on my face, I grabbed a table across the room from our normal one and sat down, praying Megan didn't move from my normal table to the one I was sitting at. I didn't feel like playing musical tables today. Not with my hurt knee. I ripped my salad dressing packet open and squeezed the ranch dressing onto the salad with a scowl. I hated ranch dressing, but I hated dry salad even more. The world obviously hated me today. With that fact cemented in my mind, I took my fork out of the plastic wrapping and stabbed it violently into the salad leaves.

Dylan appeared at that point, joyfully trotting over to the table and plopping down beside me. He looked me up and down excitedly, then frowned and visibly drooped when he saw that I hadn't brought Optimus with me. I snorted at his behavior and immediately struck up a conversation to take my mind off the frenemy glaring at me from across the cafeteria.

The rest of the high school students slowly trickled into the cafeteria as classes let out, and the rest of my gang came in two at a time, each hesitating when they saw Megan at our table, glancing around the cafeteria, then moving in my direction when they spotted me. As they seated themselves around the table, some glancing back at Megan, all attention focused on me, questioning why we were seated at a table that had once been inhabited by freshmen (said freshmen glanced at our table in confusion and irritation before seating themselves at the table beside ours, likely hoping to get in on the gossip).

"Megan decided to have a confrontation. I ended said confrontation. End of story," I explained succinctly. The looks I received told me that it would be wisest to expound, so I heaved a great sigh and regurgitated my conversation with Megan best I could remember. Mostly, I just remembered my snappy comebacks. Now that I thought back, I was rather proud of them, too. Normally, I didn't think of those until that night, when I brooded over the argument until I fell asleep.

"You should've seen that coming. Megan doesn't just give up," Maddie noted. I grimaced.

"I know."

"Why are you two even fighting anyways? You two have been kinda distant from each other for a few months, haven't you?" Cassie asked as she leaned forward on the table. I was about to answer when our straggler walked up.

"What are y'all talking about?" Margaret asked immediately as she took out her "hot pocket." She pulled a chair from a nearby table and pushed it in as much as she could between Maddie and Julianna, both of whom grimaced when they realized where Margie was seating herself.

"Nothing," four of us said at once. Margie blinked at us, then shrugged before she started pulling off chunks of her food and tossing them into her mouth. From there, the conversation moved to what would be coming out during the winter months. The bell rang, and I was off to Physics.

Mr. Charlton was late, as per usual, the difference being that today, he locked his door before lunch. As such, we, the students, were stuck waiting in the hall. I lasted about four minutes before I sat down against the wall, Dylan taking up the spot beside me as he pulled out a DS and started playing Pokémon. I rolled my eyes at him as I waited, my legs stretched out in front of me. I leaned over and rested my head against Dylan's shoulder as we waited, fighting back the urge to sleep as my body digested my fries and salad, and just as my eyes closed, Mr. Charlton arrived with the TV cart. My heart leapt. I could sleep in class! And sleep I did.

I woke up to the sound of the bell and trotted to my next class, unaware of the concerned looks Dylan was sending my way. I was only focused on getting to my next class so that I could sleep there, too. My sixth class was speech, a class that was required for all seniors to take. Next semester, we would switch over to economics, and the current economics class would get their semester of speech. I didn't have anything to worry about, though. My teacher, Mr. Creek, was absent this week, visiting a conference in Dallas. We had a substitute, which meant I could sleep. And sleep I did.

I woke up to Dylan shaking my shoulder and saying my name, and I opened my eyes to gaze at him sleepily.

"Dyl? What're you do'n' 'n my room?" I questioned drowsily. He snorted in amusement as he pulled me into a sitting position, ignoring my groan of protest.

"C'mon, Liz. Ya got cheerleading," Dylan informed me as he pulled me to my feet. I blinked rapidly, taking in my surroundings, and wondered how long I had been asleep as I let Dylan lead me out of the auditorium where our speech class was held.

I don't remember changing my clothes, only that one of the girls asked me if I was feeling okay. I yawned at her, then trotted out of the locker room and into the gymnasium where the cheer underclassmen were rolling out our huge cheer mats. I immediately perked up at that. Cheer mats meant stunting, and stunting was the best part of cheerleading. I started my five lap warmup around the gym, noting that some of the girls were still working on their warmup, too, and forced my mind to wake up. I couldn't stunt half asleep. My knee protested with every jarring step, not happy with my jogging, but I ignored it. A skinned knee was _not_ going to hold me back.

"Hey, Liz! What's the news?" I slowed a little to allow Clarisse, our main flyer, to catch up with me.

"Depends, what news do you wanna know?" I responded. Clarisse grinned and gestured with her head toward Dylan, who had left the boys' locker room and was making his way outside to the football field to help set up practice.

"Heard you two were going out again," she stated. Clarisse was a junior this year and one of the girls that were part of my inter-squad clique. She was that sweet girl that always defends everybody, and she could uphold an intelligent conversation. She was good at her sport and strove to make good grades and stay out of the drama. Really, I think the only bad thing about her was how she tended to meddle in peoples' personal lives. Her current "project" just so happened to be me, and she had apparently decided that Dylan and I were meant to be. I disagreed, but there was no stopping the girl. So I gave up and fed her delusions.

"Well, he took me to work yesterday," I responded slowly, not wanting her to get anything solid that she could form a rumor off of. At the moment, Dylan and I were "off-again," mainly because he had met a girl that he said he liked.

"You two would be so cute together!" Clarisse stated with a squeal. I groaned a little, and was grateful when my coach called us over.

"Okay, ladies," she began, her voice loud, "homecoming's coming up fast, and we need to start preparing. In other words, time to plan a pep-rally." The girls all cheered at that, clapping and bounding on the balls of their feet in excitement. We quieted down as coach drew our attention back to her. "Now, today, we're going to work on something special that we haven't done before: a stunt routine for the rally." More cheers rose from the girls around me, but I stayed silent, a cold feeling rising in my gut. We had done stunt routines before… "This time, we're moving around flyers and bases. I want this at Nationals, too, so we might as well get started now. I want the world to know that _our school_ has an adaptive cheer squad."

There was a brief moment of silence that was broken by the excited chitters of the underclassmen. The juniors and seniors stayed quiet, though, each wondering the sanity of coach's decision. We each had our assigned role, and I had placed my girls in their roles for a _reason_. Tanya didn't have the strength to lift a girl. Clarisse didn't have the form; she used her back every single time. Chloe didn't have the balance to fly, and Kirsten didn't have the height to be a back spot. This practice would end in disaster.

But I didn't question the coach, and that was another thing I wished I could redo.

And thus, practice began.

"Pick your stunt groups," coach called out generally. This was common practice, mainly because we didn't want any bases or flyers being jealous if they weren't chosen. Me, Clarisse, Erica, and Mallory were the sought-after stunts members. Mallory was the back-man with seriously manly strength, Erica was the front man that was good at taking extra weight during transitions, Clarisse was the flexible flyer that could do pretty much any stunt that was asked of her, and I was the girl that had the strength and finesse to make any stunt stick. Together, we were the dream team that would be winning the Stuntathon at Nationals. However, coach never kept us together, the exception being me and Clarisse in single-base/single-flyer stunts.

As the squad swarmed in the middle of the gym, I felt hands grab onto me, and yells of "Lizzy, over here," "Clare, choose us," and "Mal, we need you" permeated the air. I was eventually yanked out of the swarm, and Tanya cried out, "I got Lizabeth! Need a front, back, and secondary-side!" Girls who hadn't already staked a claim on one of the other elites, as our squad jokingly called us, scurried over to us. I ended up with Tanya as a flyer (not bad, but not very flexible either), Madison as back man (tall, but had very little upper body strength), Anna as front man (pretty good at her job, but not as good as Erica), and Layla as my secondary side base (a first year freshman with strength, but little control or training). It was Layla that scared me, but I told myself that everything would be okay as long as I controlled the stunt. With our groups selected, we all lined up in our usual stunt positions on the mat, then turned out attention to coach.

"Okay, ladies. We'll start simple. Fliers, trade spots with your front men." Tanya and Anna exchanged nervous glances.

"You'll do fine, Anna," I promised. "I'll talk you through everything. Just push off our shoulders hard, straighten your legs, and try to hold your own weight up." Anna nodded, a scared look in her eyes that made _me_ nervous. This would not go well. Strangely enough, the stunt started off well enough. Mallory shouted out the eight counts, and Anna went up easily enough. "Now when we throw you up, keep your legs locked and pull your belly up!' I called up to Anna, who still looked terrified, even in a half-elevator, one of the easiest stunts we knew. She nodded quickly, and Mallory called it out.

"Cradle! 1-2!" Before we could toss her up, Anna yanked her feet from our hands, attempting to jump from our hands instead of let us toss her up ourselves. She flailed a little in the air, and the two of the four bases acted on instinct, stepping forward to catch the falling flyer. Tanya had to step back to keep from getting kicked in the face, and Layla, to my dismay, stepped back for fear of getting hurt. I momentarily saw stars when Anna's knee somehow connected with my right eye socket, and I cried out even as I locked my arms around her shoulders and thighs as I had been taught to do. It's always better for the bases to get hurt than for the flyer to hit the ground. A base's bruises and cuts would heal; a flyer's head injury might not.

"Liz, you okay?" coach called out when she heard my cry, and I ground my teeth against the pain as I set Anna on her feet and pressed my hands to my eye.

"Yeah," I called back as I rubbed around the sore socket, hoping the twinkling black lights would fade from my vision soon enough. "Just another battle wound."

"I'm sorry," Anna whispered. Madison pushed her out of the way.

'Liz, le' me see your eye," the back spot ordered, and I hesitantly pulled my hand back. The collective gasp of horror from my stunt members was _not_ reassuring.

"That bad?" I asked with a grimace. It certainly _felt_ that bad. Was my face already swelling? It felt like it was swelling…

"Lizabeth, do you think-oh, my god!" Coach's exclamation was likewise discouraging. "Tanya, get some ice." The flyer-turned-front-man immediately dashed off to obey. "So what happened?"

"Anna jumped, Layla stepped back, I got a knee to the face," I stated. Man, this really was looking to be the worst day of my life. I hadn't had a cheer injury in months, the last one being the split lip in cheer camp, and that one had been more my fault.

"Well, you didn't let her hit the ground. Go take a breather. Layla, we talked about stepping back." I walked away before I could get into their conversation. Geez, my head hurt. I found myself wishing I had brought Optimus so that someone would coo over my injury.

Okay, well, maybe Optimus wouldn't coo, but he would say something witty to make me feel better. I pouted a little, then perked up when a bag of crushed ice was dropped into my hand. I grinned as I put the bag to my eye, giving a hiss of pain at the coldness then relaxing as it soothed the throbbing warmth that a black eye normally brought.

"Have you seen your eye?" Tanya asked hesitantly, and I shook my head. She grimaced. "You better go look."

With an inward sigh at the knowledge that I was _not_ going to like what I saw, I rose to my feet and shuffled toward the bathroom. Once inside, I took the ice off my eye and groaned in dismay. I leaned forward over the sinks as I stared into the mirror, moving my head around as if seeing the damage from a different angle would make it look better. It didn't. My eye socket was completely black and blue, the eyelids swollen shut, and there was a deep red knot just to the right of my eye that was the size of a golf ball. Fantastic. Even if I wore makeup, there was no hiding that. Optimus was going to have a fit.

I sat out the next twenty minutes with Tanya by my side as we waited for the swelling to go down enough that I could open my eye. Coach came by once or twice, checked my eye, then walked away. We were about to start our last stunting attempt when coach came back over, examined my eye, and gave a loud sigh.

"You need to go home, Campbell," she stated, using my last name. "Go to the nurse and call your parents. I don't want you walking like this." As she said this, the bell rang, making my head pound loudly. Even better! Now I have a migraine to go with my black eye. Nice. I stood from the bleachers and made my way slowly toward the locker room, not really liking how fuzzy my thinking was getting, how hard it was to balance. I silently thanked God that this was my day off. I would probably have to call in the rest of the week, too. No need to have an injured glamour girl scaring all the little ones away.

By the time I grabbed my bag and backpack, Dylan was waiting for me outside the bathroom, his face openly showing his concern. I smiled weakly at him and trotted forward into his arms.

"Dang, Lizzy, you've had one heck of a day," Dylan informed me sympathetically. I nodded into his shirt. He was sweaty and gross, but I didn't really care. I really needed a hug.

"Emphasis on the heck part," I mumbled. Dylan rubbed his hand up and down my back as he pulled away from me, using his free hand to shift my head to get a better look at my shiner.

"Tanya told me what happened. I told coach I'd take you home," he told me. I nodded. "So, here's Carlisle's keys. Go put your stuff up, and get the AC started. I'll be out in a few."

I took Carlisle's keys gratefully and started making my way through the crowded gymnasium toward Dylan's Camaro. I made it to the car easily enough. I didn't trip, didn't get shoved, and didn't randomly pass out from my cheer injury. I cautiously opened Carlisle's trunk and started loading my bags up. I shut the trunk, making sure the keys were in my hand, and started toward the passenger door. I opened the door and slid into the seat, happy that I had made the rest of the school day accident-free. Man, what a day. I stuck the keys in the ignition and turned over the engine, pointedly ignoring the heat that started shooting out of the AC units. The one thing I loved about Carlisle was that it didn't take long for him to cool down. I closed my door and relaxed back against the seat.

Carlisle had just cooled down when Dylan's door opened, and the dark-skinned boy slid into the driver's seat beside me. He peered over at me, but didn't speak, only tossed his bags in the small backseat. He put the car into gear and backed out before driving away.

The car ride was silent, something I thanked God for. I knew that the second Dylan asked me about my day, I would go off on a rampage, one that would probably start with the words "Well, Megan was…" Megan wasn't the true source of my bad day; in fact, she was only a small blurb on the disaster that was my Tuesday. Negative happenstance after negative happenstance simply piled up until I felt completely bogged down.

"You want me to drop you by your house?" Dylan questioned. When Dylan drove me home on my days off, he generally took me most of the way home, then dropped me off at the Walmart two miles away so that he could turn around in the parking lot and head back toward the dojo where he worked part-time. I normally enjoyed walking the final two miles, taking in vitamin D and working out any remaining stress in my muscles from cheerleading. Today, though, I had a shiner, a splitting headache, and a skinned knee. I didn't particularly _want_ to walk, but on that same note, the silence was growing stifling in the small blue Camaro.

"No. God gave me legs, and I can use them."

"Yeah, well, one a' those legs is beat up to he-eck. Heck," Dylan quickly amended his final word. He sighed as he pulled into the parking lot. "Just… stay safe. I know this ain't a bad neighborhood, but I don't wan'cha ta get hurt anymore th'n ya already are."

"I'll be fine, Dyl. No stress."

"Yeah," Dylan responded in a deadpan voice as he pulled into a parking space. "No stress." I rolled my eyes at him as I opened the car door and rose from the seat. I closed the door behind me and strode to the back of the car. I lifted the trunk that Dylan had already popped for me and lifted out my bags, pointedly ignoring how the weights mildly threw off my balance. Man, my head hurt. I closed the trunk, and with a wave, I abandoned the car, heading west.

The first half of my walk was eventless, the biggest thing being old Mrs. Hofferson calling to me from her front porch. She wondered if I had seen her cat recently, as I often walked this way. I gave her a negative answer and continued on my walk. I heaved a great sigh as I mulled over the events of the day. I had failed a quiz, something I never, ever do. I couldn't remember what questions I got wrong, but I knew I'd have to work harder to make the other next two quizzes high A's to keep my 92 in the class.

Then my trip just after first period. How the heck had that even happened? I wasn't exactly a graceful person, but I was good at keeping balance and recovering my step before I fell. I babysat fifty-plus girls in _high heels!_ I ran after little girls in five inch stilettos on Tuesdays! How the heck had I managed to trip over a door jamb that I had had the intelligence to step over every other day of the year? How—

Life was unfair, I decided as I ate concrete for the second time that day. The slab I had tripped over this time had been raised about an inch, and I had stepped just perfectly so that my foot got caught on it and sent me sprawling. My gym bag hit my right arm of the way down, preventing me from using that hand to catch myself, and I landed painfully on my elbows and knees. I groaned heavily as I rolled over, sitting on my rear as I surveyed the damage.

My _right_ knee was now just as skinned as my left, and three thick lines of blood started rolling down my right leg. I could feel a similar sting in my elbows, but the blood only pooled on the cuts, covering the open skin with an uncomfortable mix of blood and some sort of clear liquid.

As I sat there, I seriously debated crying. My day had sucked, my best friend had stabbed me in the back last weekend, and now, I had to bleed all the way home. How was this fair? As it was, a whimpering sob rose to my throat, and my eyes filled with tears. Maybe if I cried, some good Samaritan would come and give me a hug. As soon as that thought sifted through my mind, though, it was rejected. I had a strange tendency to attract creepy people…

Besides, crying was pointless. It was illogical. Crying would not get me home; crying would not heal my wounds. My best bet would be to suck it up and limp home. Optimus would be there, and he _always _knew what to say.

So I began my trek back home, limping heavily as blood trailed down the front of my leg. I glanced up at the clear, sunny sky, noting thankfully that it wasn't going to suddenly start raining on me. Then again, it might decide to rain on me just for the fun of it, stupid rain. Maybe a raincloud would form over my head like in a cartoon and just follow me around. The mental picture brought a smile to my face, however small. Yep, that would be my luck.

My home was finally in sight, and I resisted the urge to limp-sprint all the way down the street to it. It would not do to trip again, not when I was so close to my goal, to my safety. I wondered idly if Optimus would be waiting at the window for me. I hadn't been able to give him a specific time when I would be home, but I knew for a fact that I was at least ten minutes late. I had spent a lot of time sitting on that sidewalk, pondering my next move. I wondered if mom had called the police in a panic, assuming I'd been kidnapped.

"I'm home," I announced dismally as I trudged through the front door. I was met with silence, and I gave a little sigh as I strode through the foyer past the stairs to the back living room. Sure enough, mom was sleeping in her chair, a romance novel resting open on her lap. I stared at her blankly for a few seconds, taking in her curly brown hair and pale white skin.

I scowled as I turned around and limped back to the stairs. Of course she wouldn't be awake when I was home. No, _that_ would imply that she _cared_. Heaven forbid she _care_ that her daughter had come home late from school, sorta severely injured. Then again, I wasn't sure why I _wanted _her awake. If she saw me, I would only brush her off and tell her I was fine. I didn't need any coddling. I was a legal adult now. I could take care of my own problems.

I resisted the urge to stomp up the stairs in a spiteful attempt to wake her up. That would only make my knees hurt worse, and it probably would attract more attention than I wanted. Instead, I limped quietly up the stairs, muttering Cybertronian curses when the stairs creaked or my leg gave a painful twinge. I reached the top of the stairs and made my way down the hallway to my room at the end.

And thus we've come full circle. I opened my bedroom door without any fanfare and limped inside.

"Tex! I was concerned when – good Primus!" Optimus cut himself off when he got a good look at me, and he immediately dropped the red spiral he had been reading to dash to my side. "Come to the bathroom, femme, and I will tend to your wounds."

I obeyed, dropping my bags at the door and shuffling into my bathroom. The first Saturday I had Optimus, he had informed me that he wanted the first aid kit on the bottom shelf of the bathroom cabinet in case I was knocked out for some reason. Optimus immediately went to the designated cabinet and pulled open the door with all the strength in his little body, and he pulled out the 10X10 inch first aid kit, dragging it behind him like a giant suitcase. I walked to the sink and sat down, leaning against the sink cupboard that held extra shampoo and cream rinse, Raid, and other such items. I stared rather blankly at Optimus as he neared my left leg.

"I must take a moment to remind you that I _did_ warn you that you would chance injury if I was not around," Optimus began. I blinked. Had Optimus just given me a formal version of _"I told you so?"_ For the first time today, I giggled. Optimus _Prime_ had just said, "I told you so." For some reason, that was hilarious. I giggled, then that giggle turned into a laugh, then, before long, I was sobbing.

If Optimus was shocked or intimidated by my whimpering sobs, he didn't show it. I heard him sigh a little, but I didn't see him move as my eyes were covered by my palms. Crying in front of Optimus was so embarrassing! Primus, I wasn't a _child_, and I liked to think I could keep my emotions in check. Like Prowl. I bet Prowl never cried. To my frustration, my tears seemed to increase as my personal irritation did.

"Tex," a gentle voice called out directly to my right. I sniffled and pulled my blurry eyes away from my hands to look down at the 14-inch robot beside me. His optics narrowed at my black eye, but he quickly forced the expression off his face. He stepped onto my hip, holding his balance with a single hand on my t-shirt, and stood nearly eye-to-optic with me. He rested his free right hand on my cheek and gave me a sympathetic look. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

And just like that, I was bawling again. I blubbered out my story, telling him about my terrible day as he listened patiently, probably not even able to understand half of my wet words. When I was finished, I mopped at my eyes with the back of my hand and waited for my Personal to say something.

"You said yesterday… that words didn't hurt you…" Optimus gazed into my eyes seriously. "Megan hurt you very deeply when she spread those lies about you, didn't she?" I immediately looked away, averting my eyes to stare down at the light blue tile on my left as I debated how much to tell this little robot, how much I trusted him. "Hiding information will not help you." At my shocked look, he continued with a wry light to his optics. "I have ruled a planet and commanded an army. Above that, I was mated once. I know what the subtle actions of a femme mean, and I know when one of my soldiers is trying to figure out how to keep something hidden from me. I cannot help you if you do not tell me the truth." I stared at him for a few minutes, thinking about how different my life would be if I _had_ gotten the Personal: Avengers – Captain America. I bet he wouldn't be so bold asking questions. Then again, wasn't this _why_ I bought Optimus: to have someone to talk to, to share my pain with?

"I…" I sighed before I plowed into my story. "When I was a sophomore, a girl came to our school. She was nice at first, and Megan's group of friends immediately took her in. Eventually, the girl, Lexie, announced to her group of friends, Megan's friends, that she was doing meth and drank alcohol, and she invited them over to smoke and drink some with her. The group of friends turned her down, of course, but they still wanted to be friends with her. Megan decided she didn't need to have that sort of influence, so she left that group of friends." I grimaced little as my right knee twitched, sending a bit of pain down my leg. I gently lifted Optimus into my arms and rose to my feet, setting him carefully on the countertop as I reached for a wash rag and wetted it with the sink. I hopped up onto the sink ledge beside him and swung my legs up so that I could start cleaning my knee wound.

"She was alone for a few days, and I couldn't stand that. You see, at that time, my group only had Savannah, Julianna, and Mikaela. Dylan didn't go to school there yet – he wouldn't get there until the second semester. Those three girls made up my group of friends, but each of them was a freshman, a grade below me, and I only saw them at lunch. I was the girl that everyone teased, the one with no social standing, and I hated it. So I decided to reach out to Megan." I smiled at the memories I had with her. We had been best friends, talking on the phone for hours at a time.

"We became best friends. When she got a boyfriend, I was the first to hear about it. I sympathized with her over her deadbeat dad, and her mom became my mom. I can remember her mom writing me a thank you letter for giving Megan a friend when she had none…

"Then Dylan arrived. I became best friends with him, but he didn't like Megan too much, mainly because she liked him. Well, she liked _any_ boy that'd give her the time of day. Dylan wasn't interested, though, and that annoyed her. He put up with her for me, though…" I paused to hiss in pain when I got too close to the wound, which was now sluggishly oozing blood.

"Allow me," Optimus requested, holding a hand out for the bloody rag. I shook my head.

"No, I got it. You can put the bandaid on," I responded. Optimus nodded.

"Very well. Continue with your story." I shrugged.

"That's pretty much it. The rest of my group showed up last year when I was a junior, we became our clique, Megan went back to hang out with her old friends when Lexie got expelled, and Megan and I remained friends, just not as close."

There was silence as I continued cleaning the blood from my leg, taking a moment every now and again to rinse the rag out in the sink. I wondered what Optimus was thinking as he absently watched me tend to my own wounds. Was he feeling pity for me? Was he thinking back to when his best friend, Megatron, betrayed him and tried to kill him? Maybe he was simply trying to think of something to say to me. Maybe he was internally critiquing my wound-cleaning technique. I smiled a little at that last one. I was getting Optimus and Ratchet mixed up. When he finally spoke, it made me jolt a little in surprise.

"Will you ever forgive her?" he asked softly, his optics distant. I grimaced a little.

"I don't know if I can. To forgive her would be to give her the chance to hurt me again. Trust takes years to build up, seconds to shatter, and a lifetime to rebuild." Optimus nodded at that, a deep frown in his optics. I matched his frown. "Optimus, am I being petty?" I asked honestly. The Autobot commander blinked, then looked up at me with a smile.

"The things Megan said about you were cruel, and you are right not to trust her. I would suggest you forgive her, though," Optimus responded. "A grudge will turn to hate, which will become bitterness. You need not become a bitter person, Private Tex." I nodded at him as I slid off the counter and grabbed the first aid kit off the floor. I presented it to my commander with a smile, which turned into a grin when he pulled out a patch bandaid the size of his arm.

"Fraggin' material mesh," Optimus mumbled as he opened the plastic around the bandaid and began fighting with the sticky parts that seemed determined to attach themselves to his frame. I watched in amusement as the bandaid stuck to his arms and wondered idly if I should help him. I knew that if I offered, he'd say something about being a commander and having dealt with tougher things than this, but I still felt compelled to offer my assistance.

"There is no need," Optimus responded immediately. "I can manage on my own. I have dealt with far worse things than this sticky mesh, and I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of bandaging your injury." So I allowed him to fight his own battle. The bandaid ended up on my knee at some point, and I thanked him earnestly. He smiled up at me.

"It is no problem. Now, let's get started on your elbows, and we can get you some ice for your eye," Optimus directed. I nodded and rinsed out the bloody cloth again before going to work on my elbows in silence. As I worked, my mind mused at the correlation between Optimus and the bandage he had fought so valiantly against. He was my metaphorical bandaid, I decided. My heart hurt right now, but Optimus covered the wound, keeping out the hurtful words that were symbolized as bacteria. With time and care, my heart wound would heal, but until then, Optimus would hold me together.

"By the way, I have managed to put together a rudimentary filing system for your spirals, and after reading through quite a few of them, I must ask you something." He gazed up at me with a largely teasing expression. "Just _how much_ do you love Jazz?"

I was never letting him touch _any_ of my spirals _again._

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**Miko873: **Thank you for the compliment! I'm glad to entertain! (What I'm here for ;])

**Ask-xeta: **Lol. Chloe the Sorceress/Kidnapper will show up in a later chapter. In fact you met her (sorta) in this chapter. She's a flyer on Tex's cheer squad. Liz got her a job at Glam & Glamour shortly after she started there. We'll have a chapter detailing Optimus' day at G&G soon enough. I think that's in two chapters or so.

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen:** Eh. Working with other kids is different than working with your sibling. Personally, I like babysitting the two demons more than I enjoyed babysitting my little sister. It's just different. Besides, I really like kids. I understand them, and they've got the best imagination, meaning they come up with fun games and can go along with any plot twist you throw at them. You'll see that in a few chapters. Maybe I can get you to like little kids through G&G chapters. ;)

**Squidlydoo: **You know what's even funnier? I could picture him being super serious with the party, treating it like a battle or something. I wrote a ficlet where Optimus babysits, so I can see him being really good with kids, too.

**Link's Rose: **Nothing is ambitious, just like nothing is impossible. If you wanna do it, you should go for it. I'm a firm believer in doing anything you put your mind to, and I don't think there's a limit to that. Just be yourself, and no matter how famous you become, never lose yourself. And thank you. I remember a time when I used to be proud over the fact that I knew how to ruin someone's reputation, but looking back, I only feel shame for the things that I've done to people. Hindsight 20/20, right? Might as well impart my knowledge on anyone on here that thought my ideas were hardcore and wanted to try them for themselves…

**NIghtbird1001: **Thank you very much! I hope this chapter kept you entertained. :D

**Angel897: **That's my goal! Good to know I've still got it. :)

**I Am The Silver Lining: **Well, remember that his mind isn't geared toward romance, but toward companionship, the programming that Tex activated. He's happy as long as his charge is happy. And no, G&G does not exist, but if I had the money, I would create it. It sounds so fun, and both my parents say it'd be a good idea if we had the cash. But, alas, we don't. :(

**Autobot Princess Arcee: **Thank you! I'm glad you like it. I didn't expect you guys to love G&G so much, but I really wish it existed. Kids really are the funnest creatures to be around. My little cousin loves coming over to my house because I'm the only cousin who doesn't mind playing pretend with her. Everyone else is too close-minded, but we have some hardcore fairy battles and mermaid/shark fights at my house.

And sadly, Optimus will never get his Elita. Persobots Inc. is busy with Marvel, DC, and Mattel. The next Personal: Transformers won't come out until Jan of 2014, two years from this story's first chapter, and that will be Autobot Bumblebee. Seeing as Persobots Incorporated is actually a pretty small company that makes every part and develops its own technology, they have to take a lot of time coming up with designs, technology, and pre-made robots to sell as demand grows. Elita-One is low on the priority list, especially when they can sell Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and other such popular Autobots. :(

**A Wiccan: **Really? What did they sell? It sounds kind of like a little girl's store, doesn't it? Kinda like Limited Two and Justice. Heh. I am too. It's hard to find well-written romance nowadays, though. The Sues have taken over. T^T

**PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba:** Okay, I've never asked you this, and my curiosity's about to explode. Don't take this rudely, because I don't mean it so; I'm just curious. Do you actually play the tuba? Do you love pandas like I love turtles and owls? If not, where did your username come from? No offense meant. Just genuine curiosity.

Lol, I was a pageant girl from 6 months old to sixteen. I learned how to walk in high heels at a pretty young age. I have high arches, too, so I prefer heels over flats because flats hurt my feet. It's all about where your center of balance is. And practice. Lots and lots of practice. And thank you. The details are what you guys always point out. I never even notice it when I put it in. I just like to keep everything covered. No loose ends to pick at, ya know?

**SunnySides:** XD You're such a fangirl! I must admit I'd love that job, too. Well, maybe not. I haven't seen the current movie, but I was under the impression all NEST personnel were fired or arrested… I don't think I'd wanna be in Bayverse. I kinda hate it right now. I'm boycotting it, in fact… Still a good dream, though. *Dreamy sigh* Daily private meetings with Optimus to hash out various situations that occur on the NEST base. I can only imagine his deep voice calling my name, asking if I was even paying attention as I stared into his dreamy optics, his dreamy, irritated optics… Okay, maybe I would like having the job more than he would like me having it. I would fangirl too much. ^^;

I figured out what was wrong, too. FF . net wanted me to moderate the reviews. I've never had to do that… But I figured it all out. There shouldn't be any problem from here on out. :D

**Guest that is CodeRed73: **Taco Bueno for me. 80's rock, like Journey and Foreigner. Spiders. *nod nod*

Eh heh, I think you got Marge mixed up with Megan. Margaret's kinda rude, cold, and overemotional sometimes, but she's basically harmless. Megan… well, you got her story on here. G&G is not an actual place, but I have no idea what an American Girl store is…

**Bluefeather4299: **thank you so much. I hope you liked this one as much as the last. :D

**Leonixon:** Lol. I guess knight!Optimus Prime combined with babysitter!Optimus Prime is kind of an overloader. I'm mean to you guys with my fluff sometimes. XD

* * *

"old programming offlining difficulties" Can anybody guess what that means? It's a common phrase (in Texas, at least, but I'm pretty sure it's nation-wide...)

So anybody ever have that extremely bad day where everything goes wrong, and once someone asks you about it, you just start bawling? Those are the worst, but Liz was lucky enough to have her commander nearby to help her feel better.

And yes, I had a history teacher like that. i wasn't writing incorrect history facts on accident. My history teacher in high school was kinda... out there.


	8. All That I Have

1) I totally asked that question wrong at the end of the page. "Old programming offlining difficulties" translates into "old habits die hard." Looking back, though, I phrased my question very ill.

2) This is primarily a follow-up to last chapter because I felt that Tex's cheer injury would be too severe to be swept away.

3) Sorry for the lateness. I've been working on an Ironhide ficlet with a sparkling Optimus. You guys are gonna love it. So much fluff. X3 Wait in anticipation.

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**8. All That I Have**

2,297 words

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I first became aware of the weak pounding in my brain the following morning. It throbbed just behind my right eye at an even pace with my heart, and I knew without a doubt what had caused it. Suddenly, my morning became even grimmer than usual. I groaned lowly as I opened my eyes, wondering idly why Optimus wasn't ordering me to wake up. Where was my living alarm clock?

I pushed myself up on my arms, concern flowing through me at the thought of what might have happened to my Personal, but a glance around my room proved him to be perfectly fine. At the moment, he was seated on my floor, reading another one of my spiral-bound stories. Then why didn't he wake me up? I grimaced as I reached for my phone on my night stand. Something wasn't right here. I knew for a fact it wasn't Saturday, so mom or Optimus should have woken me up. Maybe I just woke up early? I pressed the power button on my phone and felt my heart stop.

It was 9:17 am. I was currently an hour and seventeen minutes late to school.

"Good morning, Private," Optimus called from his spot, finally looking up to optic-smile at me. I stared at him in slack-jawed horror.

"You didn't wake me up!" I cried as I rolled from my bed, tossing my covers off me as I stumbled to my feet. The world spun, and I threw my arms out as the dim light coming through my curtains seemed to fade in and out. I was vaguely aware of Optimus hurrying to my side and jolted a little when I felt little hands on my left calf.

"Private, your physician has suggested you take a day off just in case you received a concussion, and based on my observations of your condition over the past few moments, I am led to believe that you_ did_ receive one," Optimus informed me. I blinked rapidly as I fought off the coming blackness while processing Optimus' words. I frowned.

"When did my mother talk to my doctor?" I questioned. This gained a frown from Optimus.

"This morning. You woke up feeling ill. You're mother checked your injury and contacted your physician. You have an appointment for noon sharp," Optimus informed me. I looked down at him, my brain slowly decoding his words, then I nodded in understanding.

"Okay," I stated. Sweet. I got the day off. I looked over at my computer with a grin, thinking about how much progress I could get done on my stories with a whole day to myself. I might be able to get two chapters done in one day! The very thought made me extremely happy, and my mind was already slowly going over the plot twists I wanted to implement. Then I tried to move in that direction. Once again, the world blurred around me, and I groaned as I slid to the ground. Okay, so moving apparently wasn't an option.

"Private? Private, what is your status?" Optimus questioned as he hurried over to where I was hunched over. I only groaned again, trying to will my dizziness and the pounding headache away. I was sitting on my knees, my bottom on the ground between my feet, and my hands supported my weight, arms locked. Optimus stood just in front of me, crouched down so that he could peer up at my face. "Tex, perhaps it would be wise for you to stay in your bed."

I nodded my head miserably and crawled slowly back to my bed. I crawled under the covers and covered my head with the blankets, hating Anna for hitting me and coach for putting a front-base in my hands. I felt an extra weight shift onto the bed. I pulled the covers down just enough that I could see Optimus carefully navigating my bed, a huge spiral being dragged behind him. He walked up the bed until he stood beside my right arm, and I shifted back and onto my right side to face him as he dropped the spiral down. I curled my arm under the pillow and kept my eyes on Optimus as he sat down beside me.

"I have barely started on this spiral, and I can tell that it will be another story about a sparkling. You write a lot of those," he noted as he opened the spiral that was almost as tall as he was. I took in his question then nodded.

"I deal with kids a lot," I responded.

"You will not be attending work today. Rest, and I will wake you when it is time for you to get dressed," Optimus informed me. I gave a short exhale, then closed my eyes.

Optimus watched his human closely as she slowly drifted offline. Yesterday had been long; no, even _that_ was an understatement. He hadn't been joking when he had informed Tex that he would worry for her safety in his absence, and apparently, that worry was for good reason. Not only had she come home scraped and bleeding, but she had a bruise and a knot the size of a golf ball on her eye. His spark had nearly stopped at the sight of her.

There was no denying that Optimus was overprotective. He had been that way with his soldiers, trying to keep them safe as much as physically possible. He had been that way with his friends and his Elita. Now, he was that way with his human, Private Tex. She was a bit of a mystery to him, a femme who changed her personality around specific people easily, as if she had been doing so for a long time. Ironically enough, she actually reminded him rather acutely of his first lieutenant, Jazz, in that sense.

When Jazz first joined the Autobots, he had been a stony-faced mech, his visor hiding cold optics and his mouth set in a perpetual scowl. His home had been destroyed, and the only reason he was with the Autobots was for revenge; he didn't feel the need to make friends. However, as the war waged with no end in sight, Jazz began to feel lonely. Unfortunately, he had pushed others away for so long, he forgot how he was supposed to act around people; he forgot how to make friends. So, as a special ops mech, he did what came naturally to him: he started acting. He observed what made other mechs comfortable, and he started pretending once he was transferred to another unit — Optimus' unit, to be specific. It was why he got along so well with everyone. He could talk guns with Ironhide, pretend to be irritated with the twins when speaking to Ratchet, and talk appearances and wax jobs with Tracks. He got along with the minibots and the dinobots, once they were created. He got along with every human, even the annoying ones, and he was able to make the Decepticons believe he was one of them when he went undercover.

With every new bot came a new personality, and it had amazed Optimus when he first experienced Jazz suddenly changing personalities. Optimus could still remember the cycle, too. He had gone to the rec room for some fresh energon after a long cycle. The cube he had still on his desk had gone brown long ago, and he had forgotten that he should refuel before his next appointment with Ratchet over his recently reattached leg. Jazz had been in the rec room, gazing darkly at the energon in his hand, his expression almost _broody_. Optimus hadn't ever seen such an expression on Jazz's face and had immediately moved in his subordinate's direction, concerned for the mech he had grown to see as a friend. Optimus had only taken two steps in the mech's direction when Jazz's head snapped up, and his blue optics locked on Optimus. The Autobot commander stared in fascination as Jazz changed before his very optics. That broody glare became a friendly beam, the deep scowl became an easy smile, and his tense body loosened to a laid-back slouch.

"Ey, Prime. Wha'cha doin' out 'ere with us common folk?" Jazz asked brightly.

From that moment on, Optimus had taken great care to watch his third-in-command to see if this behavior persisted, and he found that whenever Jazz thought himself to be alone, he drew back into that broody persona that Optimus had never thought he'd see. He looked angry, hurt, and… lonely. Of course, he only saw this Jazz a few times. It didn't take long for the special ops mech to catch on. He was the best at what he did, and he could easily sense Optimus with or without the Matrix covering his spark signature. He only needed to turn his audio receptors up a little bit to pick up Optimus' nearly-silent footsteps.

Tex reminded him of Jazz in the same way. It was something he first noticed when he went to school with her, then continued to observe afterwards. She was overly peppy at school around the females on her "cheer squad" and the males on the "football team." She was sharp and witty to her personal friends, giving short one-liners instead of the grinning teases she gave her cheer friends. At home, however, she was subdued. She didn't really speak much with her mother or brother, giving words mostly in passing. Her father could bring out an honest, cheerful Tex, but he worked second shift, which meant that he was asleep when Tex went to school and at work by the time she got home.

He easily gathered that this was why she bought him: she was lonely. Her friends lived on the other side of town, a fifteen minute drive that could easily stretch into an hour walk, and she had no car. At home, she stayed in her room, typing on her stories and avoiding a family that she believed didn't care for her, the single exception being her father. Her brother stayed in his own room next door to her, playing video games and chatting with his fiancée over the phone, and her mother remained downstairs, reading the romance books that filled the many bookcases. She had a chemical imbalance of some kind, but Optimus felt that it was not his place to inform her. She was his owner's carrier. He had no right to comment on her habits or bodily imbalances.

Optimus huffed a little as he went back to his reading, only partially paying attention to the pages in front of him. His optics dimmed a little as he glanced at his sleeping charge. Despite the sad memories he kept with him of times passed, he found that he didn't truly mind his situation. It was painful—truly excruciating—to know that he would never see his love again, but he could have been dealt much worse. He could have woken up on Cybertron to Elita's dead body, or he could have been bought by a cruel owner. Instead, he had imprinted on this sad creature who needed him so desperately, and he found… he rather liked the idea of her needing him so much.

Even on Cybertron, he had felt that he was more of a figurehead than anything else. Yes, his army needed him to okay large-scale attacks and to fight against Megatron, but… it always seemed like he, himself, was superfluous. Prowl did all of the strategizing. Jazz did all the behind-the-scenes stuff and kept up morale. Ironhide kept weapons up-to-date. Red Alert kept security up-to-date, and the frontliner twins could probably take down Megatron if Optimus would get out of the way. Really, all Optimus _did_ was paperwork. He dealt with dignitaries, but Ratchet could technically do that. He couldn't explain it… this feeling that if he suddenly died, nothing would truly change. Yes, his troops would mourn him, but… someone else would be accepted by the Matrix of Leadership, and he would become a legend simply because he was charismatic. He wondered if his officers, the ones who truly did all the work, would get such accolades once they passed to the Well.

With Tex, though, it was different. She had all these friends, yet she still felt she needed him. When she came home injured, it wasn't Ratchet she was asking for; it was _him_ that she came to. When she felt the need to speak about her friend that had betrayed her, it hadn't been Jazz that listened; it had been _him._ When she needed assistance with her math homework, it hadn't been Prowl she sought out; it had been _Optimus._ And even though none of these other bots existed in a way that she could contact them… he still felt special, and for some reason, he knew that he would still be her favorite when these other Autobots came out, something that made him feel special. He hadn't felt this way since Alpha Trion had awarded him the Matrix of Leadership after Megatron's attacks on the docks. Tex's trust in him made him feel important.

And he would make sure that trust was not abused. He would make sure his ward never felt alone when he was around. He would defend her against those that meant to cause her pain, and he would protect her from her own insecurities. He wasn't sure yet how exactly he would do these things, but he would find a way. Tex was all that he had now, and he refused to let her hurt anymore. She was his ward, and he would protect her as long as he could. He was Optimus Prime, and primes protected their own.

* * *

**Miko873:** Thanks! Glad to entertain!

**Autobot Phoenix: **I think a lot of people have become that way. Gotta protect yourself first, right? Can't do that if you bring a traitor back into your midst.

**Sora Metasuki:** XD I have so much fun measuring how big something would be to little Optimus. I carry around a fabric tape measure just to make sure everything is accurate. Confuses my mom and amuses my dad. XD

**Leonixon: **I can't do that. Playing with emotions is what I do best. :\ Maybe next time?

**Killia the Cosmic:** Eh heh, enough to be embarrassed if Optimus _did_ read some of my Jazz fics.

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen:** Yeah. Catty girls are never fun to deal with, but she has an Optimus and her own thinking skills to help her with the backstabber. Once again, though, revenge doesn't help anything. It's best to just cut ties with whomever lied about you rather than destroy their reputation like I used to. What Megan did was unforgiveable, but what Elizabeth did in retaliation was no less unforgivable.

**A Wiccan**: 0.0 Well, we can safely say this G&G isn't like that one. You know, I was talking to one of my FF friends, and I was telling her that I wish I knew html, cuz I would create a FF website that's invite only to keep away n00bs and Sue writers. Too many little kids on this site now, and all the really, really good writers are either leaving or getting ready to leave. It's kinda sad. :(

Cheerleading was my sport, too. We were pretty intense, too. Got kicked, kneed, scratched, punched… still had to get back up. Takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'. No bruises or sprains kept us from our sport. XD We were pretty intense. And I totally agree. A good cry is soothing sometimes. I just can't cry in front of anyone else. I wait until the house is empty. Stupid pride.

**Chistarpax: **I didn't phrase that question well enough. I mean, I was half-asleep at the time, but still XD I agree. I would have difficulty letting Prime read my stuff, and you'll see Tex's embarrassment in a few chapters when Optimus gets ahold of a twins/OC story she wrote. Wow, I make him sound like an unruly dog. XD

**SunnySides: **Nope, you're review didn't get lost. I dunno why some people couldn't read it… You're review was actually why I didn't know that my story wouldn't load for some. It took some one PMing me for me to know, but it apparently still came up in the "most recent" page.

So, private school for you or homeschool? I got quite a few friends that homeschool. Seems like it would be harder than actual school, but more relaxed, no?

I _used_ to like Bayverse. Then he put out this last movie, made it way darker than the rest, and decided to kill my favorite Autobot. Now, only Optimus lives on as my favorite in Bayverse (seeing as he butchered Drift's personality). I am _not_ happy with Bay.

**Bluefeather4299: **Thank you! I'm certainly having an interesting time comparing items to Optimus' new height. Poor guy's in over his little head. XD

* * *

Little Optimus Prime's overprotectiveness is adorable. For some reason, I could totally see Optimus being all gloomy as the war went on, and I could picture him getting all overprotective like this. After all, it's Megatron's goal to destroy everything Optimus holds dear, so he _has_ to protect his people. It kinda makes me wish I could introduce a Megatron Personal. Could so see little Optimus flipping out. X3 Sorry that the chapter was so short. I started another chapter, then, as I said, I decided the injury needed a bit of closure. After this, the story will start skipping around. I've got a lot of ground to cover in the next ninety chapters. *nod nod* I hope y'all liked it.


	9. Fortitude

1) Well, I am back from vacation, and it was fantastic. I went to carthage, Missouri to see the Precious Moments Chapel. If you don't know what Precious Moments figures are, you won't understand if i try to explain, so just be happy for me. :) Then, i got back and got my braces on, and it's everything y'all promised: didn't hurt too bad going on, but it friggin hurts now. Pretty sure these things are slowly yanking out my teeth. So yeah.

2) Kinda short today, but that's because I've been uber busy. All you praying folk... pray for my grams. They think she's got early onset dementia. This is not a good thing. If this is true, it might be the first time someone close to me has died. I've lost one grandparent, but they lived in Colorado and were visited once every two or three years, so it wasn't the same. this one's a little too close to home.

* * *

**9. Fortitude**

1,773 words

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"The Tigers scored a touchdown, and we're feelin' mighty fine, so hike that ball, and mosey down the line!"

Pom-poms swished with cheerleader hips, and girls clad in blue, gold, and white uniforms made of thick polyester went through their sideline chant, high ponytails bouncing as they moved. Pleated skirts hugged hips, and tight shells clung to fit torsos, each threatening to cut of circulation. Light Nike shoes completed the ensemble, creating that typical cheerleader appearance. The crowd, ever the football fans, cheered loudly along with the girls. Well, everyone cheered except for one person… Well, one person and a robot.

I sulked from my spot in the stands, pointedly refusing to shout along to my favorite cheer. "Mosey down the line," as we had taken to calling it, had actually been introduced this season by a cheerleader from a rival school. It was the only cheer we had that had actual movement in it other than high-V's, step-claps, and the like. Hence why it was my favorite. Optimus stood on my lap, leaning back against me as he watched the game, sharp optics following every movement.

It wasn't fair that I was stuck here just because of my black eye and concussion. It hadn't been severe – my concussion, that is – but it hadn't been minor, either. I had some problems with balance, it took me a few moments to process words, and I had a headache that had faded over the last two days. Those were the only signs of concussion I had shown really, aside from the nausea and the huge knot on my head, of course. The nausea had been gone by the time I visited the doctor, but that hardly mattered. She gave me the basic neurological tests, cognitive tests, and an MRI. It was incredibly boring, especially since Optimus had to stay outside with mom because he was made of metal. Apparently, the signals in his body could disrupt the machines in my room. Optimus protested very firmly; after all, every time I left his sight, I apparently got injured. His protests were in vain, as mother lifted him into her arms and kept him nestled firmly in her lap for the duration of my doctor visit.

Mom was called back to the room once everything was said and done and I was dressed again. Optimus immediately jumped from her arms, landing gracefully on the paper-covered bed I was seated on. He strode to my side and looked me over, ensuring the "unknown medic" hadn't injured me further. When he was convinced I was not about to pass out, he climbed into my lap and sat down, locking his hands in my "Every Girl Needs a Ninja Turtle" t-shirt as he sent a discreet glare in my mother's direction, much to my surprise. Well, it appeared my mom's distaste for Optimus was now mutual. Now _that_ was something I wasn't expecting.

To make a long story short, Dr. Otega informed me rather bluntly that I was not to step foot on our gym floor or even think about doing a cheer routine for at least two weeks. I was not allowed to take any tests until next Wednesday because of my delayed responses. If the symptoms – my headaches, the dizziness, and slowed thinking – persisted, I was to come back today, on Friday. Luckily, the rest of those symptoms had ceased yesterday, giving me the ability to go to school today.

Which means I get to sit through this football game and watch my team lose.

It was rather pitiful to watch, to be honest. Our team would intercept a pass, then get tackled. The next play, the ball would be fumbled by the other team, and the opponents would score a touchdown. Our first touchdown had been about fifteen seconds ago, and the team was preparing to kick a field goal. I doubted they'd make it.

"I had assumed with all the pride your school put into your football team that this game would go far different," Optimus commented dryly from where he stood on my lap. I snorted in amusement, ignoring the dark look a nearby football mom sent us.

"We're a school known mostly for academics. Our debate team is _legendary_," I informed him. Optimus glanced up at me with an intrigued expression.

"I suppose this is not something that interests you?" he guessed. I laughed out loud at that. I was a terrible speaker. Seriously. Speech was one of the many classes I was currently BS'ing my way through, stuttering pathetically as I stared down at my outline in hopes that the words would magically appear in my head. They never did. Of course, my speech inabilities never kept Miss Smallwood, the debate director, from asking me to join. After all, _Billy_ was elected to the EGP chair in the state debate competition. I had no idea what an EGP chair was or what they did, but it sounded official.

"Let's just say my brother already has a handle on that department," I said lightly. Optimus gave me a strange look.

"You are jealous of him," he breathed, his voice low enough that I had to strain to hear him. At that moment, the team scored the field goal, and the crowd surged to their feet with a loud cheer. My attention stayed locked on Optimus, though. He was staring at me with that weird look in his optics, and I wondered if he was comparing me to his brother in his mind. I, myself, often did the same thing. I had a similar temper as Megatron, and I also showed the same amount of patience as he did. Optimus was probably connecting my revenge on Megan with some sort of retaliation of Megatron's. He was probably noticing how I was just as manipulative as the silver warlord, capable of making others think what I wanted them to think, a perfect example being my manipulation of Megan's friends to make them shy away from her.

I must admit that in those brief moments, as the joyful people around me cheered in complete juxtaposition to my blank silence, I was afraid. Thoughtful silences from Optimus, I was slowly discovering, were a bad thing. I knew he had imprinted on me, and it was now impossible for him to leave my side, but still. Nothing kept him from hating me. Nothing kept him from deciding that I was not worth his time and emotion. He could very easily start acting more robotic, start behaving as if he didn't care. Would he do that to me? Could I stand him doing that to me?

"You need not be," Optimus finally noted lowly, so lowly that I almost couldn't hear him. "You two are equal in intelligence and talent; he simply shows his talent in different ways than you do." The Personal placed his hands on either side of my face, cupping my cheeks as he gazed into my eyes. The people around us seemed to disappear, despite their calls and shouts, and my sole focus was Optimus. "If anything, you are stronger than your brother. You feel so alone, like the world is against you, yet you press on. If anything, it is that that makes you better; your fortitude makes you stronger."

Even as he said these words, I was uncertain if they were meant for me or for the brother that he wished he had spoken to a "millennia" ago. Yet another wrong that Optimus felt he would never be able to right. No matter, his words made it to my heart.

"Billy can survive a struggle," I pointed out. "I have yet to see him give up on those he holds dear." Optimus smiled gently at me, understanding my statement for what it was, and I secretly felt grateful that he had discovered how to retract his facemask.

"Nevertheless, he has not _had_ to for quite a while, and how is he to know if those traits have outstood the test of time? How is he to know if he could possibly protect those most important to him now?"

"That's the question, isn't it? I believe fortitude is not _my_ strength alone. I believe it is a strength that everyone has, even people who haven't felt the need for it for a while. That is because one doesn't realize they have such a strength until they are forced to show it."

Optimus' optics brightened into a smile, one that matched the smile on his faceplates. I smiled back at him, feeling accomplished that I had brought such an expression forward.

"I was lucky to be bought by you," Optimus stated sincerely, and I felt my cheeks go red.

'I believe the feeling is mutual," I responded lightly. The Personal patted my cheeks before turning his attention back to the field. Just like that, all the noise penetrated my ears, and I grinned as I watched Dylan sprint down the field with the ball tucked into the crook of his arm. He spun away from one guy and leapt over another before dancing into the end zone. The crowd rose to their feet again, and I rose with them this time, Optimus hugged in my arms as I screamed Dylan's name with a fervor that any best friend would have. Once he was finished with his obnoxious dance, he looked at the crowd and gave a thumbs-up. I knew he probably couldn't see me, but I responded with a thumbs-up of my own before I sat back down and joined in the cheer of "Touch-down, Ti-gers, touch-down!"

Though I didn't see it, Optimus smiled up at me, his spark a little lighter at my words. I would never know what my reassurances meant to him, a mech who felt worthless to an army that would survive without him. Megatron had always been jealous of him. In his optcs, Optimus had everything: intelligence, a mate, an army that was loyal without a constant threat of death, and the loyalty and favor of the people around him, even though Megatron was technically the one truly fighting for the rights of the lower caste. Despite this, Optimus had always felt that Megatron was better than him. That was a secret he kept close. He would always love his brother, no matter how often he betrayed him, because that was what brothers did: loved each other no matter how grievous the injury. Megatron would see sense eventually.

Until then, Optimus had his human, and he would make sure she never felt the envy – the pain and loneliness – that Megatron felt. Of that he could be certain.

* * *

**JackFroyo:** Thank you! I was actually debating doing a Jazz origin story that worked kinda like that. The guy is such a people person, overly cheerful and such, and everyone I know who's like that is hiding something darker beneath the surface. I just don't know if I'll have the time to write it.

**Bliss123: **Thank you very much! You make me blush!

**Sora Matasuki:** I know, right?! There is something about a small Optimus that makes you wanna cuddle him, period, isn't there? And yeah… Concussions suck. I mean, it rocks because you can't take tests or do any "serious thinking" for a while, but it sucks because it hurts and you're benched until the doc lets you free -_-

**PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba:** I've always wanted to play an instrument, the violin or fiddle to be specific, but I never had time. And another curiosity… I suppose you read mostly fics that have been completed or abandoned? I know my generation of writers is slowly fading away (having babies, getting careers, and college and such.), and there's a lot of copycat writers nowadays. So, any particular reason why you haven't followed many current fics? Lol, I can't wait to wear heels to my wedding so that I can take the off at the reception.

**Crescentrax:** XD I'm glad you liked it. I'm beginning to really have fun with Optimus and his thoughts and relationship with Tex. As the story continues, you should have more fluffy moments like that. I am, after, a fluff writer. Mostly.

**JustaSchmuck:** I knew I had missed my calling as a foreteller. Shoot. Love your username, buy the way. XD

**I Am The Silver Lining: **That bugged me in the movie. I mean, he's been leader since the very beginning of the war, but after he dies (after EVERY commanding officer dies), everyone's like, "Well, Ultra Magnus is fantastic. Bury Optimus, and let's move on with life." I mean, seriously? When JFK was killed, the whole nation mourned, and while Optimus is not real, I think he's the Transformers version of JFK (or any other amazing president we've had). I read that people walked out of the theater when Prime died in a '84 movie. I don't think Tex will let him watch the G1 movie, though, because it'll just confirm all his insecurities.

**Nikikt: **Oh, you make me blush! X3 I'm just like y'all, just with a bit more practice and an annoying Megatron muse on my shoulder. I am very glad to keep you entertained, though. It's what I do. n.n

**Miko873:** Thank you! Glad you liked it. :)

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen: **It's what makes mini-Optimus so desirable. The mech's a best friend, a mentor, a father, and that intelligent voice in the back of your mind rolled into one.

**Lydia the tygeropean:** My cousins homeschooled and were always singing its praises. Personally, I was happy with my private school. It was a lot of work, and some of the people there were glitches, but overall, I liked the experience. The drama prepared me for work, that's for sure.

**Leonixon: **Want me to threaten your heartstrings even more? I need practice writing angst and depressing stuff… And no. Optimus isn't the real prime, remember? No reason for scientists to take him, and stealing him is pointless as he would just leave to find his owner once the thieves turned their heads. Prime is safe for the moment. There will be moments, though…

**SunnySides: **Sounds like a dream. I don't think I'd be motivated enough for homeschooling, though. And not exactly. He knows that he as created in North Carolina in a factory. He knows that Cybertron is not real and has never been real. However, because of how vivid they programmed his memories to be, he has trouble not crossing them into reality. SO he knows his memories are fake, but if you discovered your whole past was nothing but a dream, would you not find it difficult to separate the new reality where none of your past exists and the old past that you already experienced?

And I would believe that if he didn't screw up movies in the past. Different screenwriters and producers, yet the movies still sucked. The only common factor is Bay, and even if the screenwriters wrote the movie, Bay is still in charge. He's the one who said how he wanted the movie to go. He's the one that decided to throw in the crude humor and ridiculous plotlines. Yes, the writers write the script, but Bay decides what's _in_ that script. Catch my drift? :\

**A Wiccan:** I think a lot of people are. Weakness is frowned upon, despite how much we say that we need to defend those weaker than use. Kinda pathetic how cruel people are nowadays. Meh. I'm an old soul.

**WeLonelyOldSouls: **No, no, it makes sense. I totally agree. In cheer, I hated being captain for quite a while because I felt that everyone only wanted me for my strength and loud voice. It wasn't until last year when I went to a football game and realized that the team didn't have many new cheers and completely lacked discipline, which I had somehow ended up being in charge of. I understand. :)

Honestly? Practice. I've been writing since I was very little. When I was five, I wrote my first series of books. Given, it was a children's book series called "Baby Bunny," and it read like this: "It was Christmas. Baby Bunny was not ready. She had no gifts for mommy Bunny or daddy Bunny." But still. Since then, my favorite class was English/Lit, and my favorite assignment was the yearly research report. I kept close relationships with my teachers and researched online any grammar questions I had. In early 2010, when I was sixteen, I started publishing some pokemon fanfics on Quizilla, hoping for feedback. When I received none, I started looking for new sites and stumbled on this one. I joined in September 2010 and uploaded as Transformers/Winx crossover that I ultimately deleted. I wrote. People gave me feedback. I reread what I wrote and picked out the different writing styles I found in my writing and expounded on them, adding different styles that I liked to form my own diction, or my own style of writing. Now, I'm twenty, and I can say that I have fifteen years of experience behind me. Practice and the insight of others, mainly reviewers on this site, have gotten me to where I am. Shrug. Story of my life, I guess.

**Guest: **I'm glad! Means I'm doing my job. n.n

**Violet-bo: **Thank you very much! And to answer your question, no, he can't transform. While Persobots Inc. is looking into the technology that would allow such a transformation, they currently don't know how to transform a bipedal robot into a car without disconnecting important wiring and cables. So not yet. Maybe in a few more years when they come out with Personal: Transformers – Bumblebee.

* * *

I keep typing Optimus' name as Optimisu, and he sounds like a Japanese gourmet dish! D: Anywho, anybody else _been_ that other sibling, the one that is envied by the other sibling because they seem to do everything right? I remember there being a time when Ben, my brother, hated me because I was the perfect child, when in reality, I just watched what he did and made sure not to repeat anything that got him in trouble.


	10. Sport

1)Those of you following my Seeker story, the name has been changed along with the updating schedule, as I will put in the next update when I have a chance to finish it. For those of you reading this and following my other stories, I've decided not to do an updating schedule. I write on different stories as I feel like writing on them, and I think the pressure of keeping up a schedule is too much, so no more schedule. I will try to update something every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as those are the days I generally have off, but I can make no promises.

2) I had something else, but I plumb forgot what it was... Oh well.

* * *

**10. Sport**

4,732 words

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"_This is a bad idea," Elisa stated hesitantly as she stared up at the looming Decepticon fortress._

"_Coward," Scarlett scoffed as she leaned around the other girl. Her door-wings twitched as the wind caressed them. She scowled again, cursing the Allspark and all things Cybertronian over the fact that every gust of winds sent a tickling sensory wave through her wings, and _

"I do not believe that is how wind on door-wings feels."

I paused in my writing to glance over at Optimus. His optics were locked on my computer screen, probably glancing back over my work. It was Saturday, and Optimus had announced it was time for some more "firsts." In other words, I had been spending too much time wrapped up in my writing over the last four hours, and he was tired of reading my sparkling stories. I had hesitantly agreed to allow Optimus to sit on my desk and use my touch phone as a planner of sorts. Optimus was bored easily nowadays, and he had taken to writing up various things that might be amusing to him as hobbies. Seeing as my pencils were longer than his arms, he had taken to using my Samsung Infuse as a datapad of sorts. I had known, of course, that my phone would not keep Optimus amused for very long, but I had expected him to at least mind his own business while I worked.

"_Really_?" I asked flatly, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Then tell me, noble Cybertronian, how exactly_ does_ wind feel on door-wings?" Optimus shrugged.

"I am uncertain, but I doubt it tickles. Prowl never giggled when we were in Oklahoma City." I paused, my whole mind stopping for a second as I came to the realization that Optimus had just made such a joke. I was quickly growing accustomed to his dry wit and smart one-liners, but this was the first time Optimus had been… silly.

"That's not evidence that it doesn't tickle, Prime," I disagreed. "It just proves that Prowl doesn't know how to laugh."

"We shall agree to disagree," Optimus stated, and he looked back down at my cellphone and continued his typing. I snorted in amusement as continued my own typing.

_-through her wings, and she forced her attention back onto the fortress in front of her. She could see Elisa crossing her arms across her chest, but she shrugged it off. Ellie was a coward that just wanted to hide. Scarlett, however, wanted answers, and she knew that Megatron could give them to her._

"Megatron would probably step on her," Optimus stated plaintively. I rolled my eyes as I looked down at him.

"You haven't read the whole story, Opt. She's got part of his spark signature because of the Allspark."

"I still doubt Megatron would give her the time of day. She is human; that is reason enough to kill her."

"Yes, but Megatron is still her only source of answers right now, other than the humans that played with her DNA, but they're not her friends right now." Optimus gave me a look that told me _exactly_ what he thought about that mildly-cliché plot twist.

"And she cannot go to the Autobots _because_…?" he prodded. I sighed loudly, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.

"Because she doesn't know the Autobots _exist_," I stated as if he should know that. Optimus snorted in amusement.

"Of course not," he muttered as he turned his optics downwards.

"_We should enter from that door over there. They will be less likely to notice us," Prowl observed as he stepped up beside Scarlett, his wings flaring as he sensed his twin's determination._

"You just said she had no knowledge of the Autobots!" Optimus exclaimed, rising to his feet as he pointed at the screen with exaggerated motions that made me giggle. "Prowl is standing right beside her. And Prowl does not have a twin," he added as an afterthought.

"Not during his _first_ life. He had recently been reincarnated by the Allspark to save Scarlett's life by taking some of her spark when she was transformed into a Cybertronian via evil scientist. That's how he became Scarlett's twin," I explained. Optimus blinked.

"And where does Megatron come in?" he asked, his voice holding confusion. I grinned.

"He was the one that inadvertently helped her escape when he left Hoover Dam," I informed him cheerfully. Optimus frowned at me in confusion.

"I fear I do not understand," he admitted. I opened my mouth to respond, asking him how he didn't know about Megatron destroying Sector Seven and Hoover Dam, but my brain flicked on just before the words came out. _Of course_, he wouldn't know. He was from G1, and I had hidden all my Transformers movies in hopes of keeping Optimus perfectly oblivious of Michael Bay. Not that I personally had anything against Michael Bay, but the last movie, _Dark of the Moon_ in 2011, Ironhide had been murdered by Optimus' mentor. And Chicago had been destroyed, but that happened every other apocalypse movie, so I was certain he'd see a city destroyed eventually on the big screen, but that was another thing I was trying to put off.

Now that I thought of it, someone close to Optimus died _every_ movie, barring _Revenge of the Fallen_. Of course, in that one, Optimus died himself. Hence, the reason behind hiding all Michael Bay movies. I didn't want Optimus to be scarred by that man's incessant need to murder all the Autobots (and Decepticons, but that was water under the bridge).

"The details don't matter, Optimus. Just… you know what? It doesn't matter anyways. It's _my_ story. Scarlett's gonna go inside, Megatron's gonna be intrigued by the bond, and he's _not_ going to step on her."

"But that wouldn't happen. You are taking Megatron out of character, and I shall not stand for it!" On this last word, Optimus crossed his arms and glared at me. I would have been intimidated if not for his small smile. I raised an eyebrow at his strange behavior and sat back in my chair, crossing mirroring his position with a small grin.

"You must be very bored," I noted evenly. Optimus gave me a mockingly incredulous look.

"I hardly think my disagreement with this… travesty, this cliché falsehood is spawned from boredom," he disagreed, shifting his weight to his other foot as he stared me down. I gave a disbelieving breath of air.

"How do you know it's cliché?" I questioned, eyes narrowing. Honestly, I was more embarrassed at what he was getting at than angry.

"The plotline is one I have seen before. The femme falls in love with the evil mech, yet she is strangely connected to him, and he ultimately falls in love with her…" Optimus trailed off as he looked down at his pedes. I felt concern growing in my chest when he moved his right hand to his chin in thought. I believe I mentioned last time I wrote that thoughtful silences were bad when coming from Optimus? This particular silence wasn't as long as others, but I knew that whatever conclusion he had come to would be somehow painful. Optics that were dimmed in thought suddenly lit up, then a sly grin spread across his face.

"You plan on pairing your character with Megatron, don't you?" he questioned. My eyes widened as I stared down at him. Was that _really_ the conclusion he had come to? Somehow… that didn't seem as bad as I had thought it would be. However, his next sentence drew me up short. "You like my brother, don't you?" I blinked as my mouth opened and closed, my mind unable to come up with words at the weird accusation Optimus had just laid at my feet. Optimus had a huge grin on his face at this point, obviously taking joy in my speechlessness. I scoffed in an attempt to throw the mech off.

"No, I'm not," I disagreed, and it was true. I was actually pairing this character with Jazz, but saying so would not help my case. Besides, there was a black spiral on the shelf that held my Megatron/OC story, and I desperately hoped Optimus never touched it. "And I don't like your brother," I added. Optimus was not one to be so easily swayed, though.

"If you fear my rejection, you needn't. I believe you would make a fine match for my brother," the miniature prime stated magnanimously. I stuttered loudly at that statement.

"Optimus, I – I mean – you – but Megatron and I – _that's not funny!"_

"On the contrary, I find your infatuation with my sibling to be rather humorous, if not adorable."

"_I'm not infatuated with your brother!"_

"You shouldn't deny your feelings, Tex. Imagine how pained he will be once Persobots Incorporated creates a Personal in his image. His spark will break when I inform him that you deny your feelings for him."

"Persobots isn't _making _Decepticons!"

"So you do not deny that fight your feelings for him?"

"Optimus, _I don't have feelings for him!"_

Optimus' amused grin remained on his face for during our whole exchange, and I felt a small surge of uncertainty when it suddenly dropped into a small, sly smile. I had once written in a story that seeing Prowl smile slyly normally meant pain for somebody. Seeing Optimus smile like that, though, sent small shivers down my spine, and while I'd never admit it, I could see a little bit of Megatron in that smile. Luckily, Optimus was nowhere near as malicious as Megatron. Still, he had his days.

"Of course, you do not pine after Megatron; you are too focused on that human mech, Dylan."

Okay, now _that_ made me blush. I wouldn't admit it, but I did really like Dylan, and I was certain that he liked me back. Unfortunately, I would never act on that affection. For one, I didn't want to make our friendship awkward. We liked what we had, and we didn't want to chance ruining it because we thought we loved each other. Secondly, Dylan had a girl in the wings that he'd been holding out for for quite a while. The last I wanted was to be dumped when she finally became available, or worse. I didn't want to be that girl that the guy dated for pity because he would feel bad if he dumped her.

"I don't like Dylan like that!" I disagreed firmly.

"You hesitated," Optimus pointed out. "Sentinel Prime once said that hesitation is a sign of deceit."

"I didn't hesitate!" I argued. "Besides, why are you so determined to find out who I like? Trying to set me up, Optimus?" I leaned close as I said this last part, eyes narrowed slightly as I studied his reaction, or lack thereof. He shrugged his shoulders again, a movement the Optimus of my headcanon would have never used.

"I would enjoy seeing you court another," Optimus admitted. I groaned loudly as I sat back in my seat.

"You are _just like_ my mom," I grumbled. Optimus stiffened at that statement and locked his optics on my face.

"Explain," he ordered in that Commander Voice that nobody could hope to disobey. I grinned internally at the obvious distaste in his voice. Who would've thought Optimus' dislike would be earned by a human woman simply by refusing to let him sit in on a doctor's appointment.

"She really wants me to get a boyfriend. Said that if I stopped obsessing over Transformers, I might already have one," I responded. Optimus cocked his helm at me.

"I don't understand," he admitted, and this time, I was the one who shrugged.

"When I went out with Zach, I couldn't think of anything to talk about," I explained. "I didn't want to talk about Transformers, because I knew I'd go Super Nerd if I did, so I stuck with football and cheerleading because that's all I know. I haven't been out to see any movies lately, I don't like adding to the gossip mill, and I don't really _do anything_ aside from writing. I'm socially awkward around people I haven't been talking to for years unless I have someone else around to take the attention off me when I'm ready to step back from the spotlight."

"I… see," Optimus responded slowly. Yet another mask, he assumed. I noticed that he was preparing to add to that statement when my mother's lilting tones shot up the stairs.

"_Marie! Come change out the laundry and fold the clothes!"_ she called in that loud voice that I had finally inherited just in time for cheer camp. I gave a weak groan as I rose to my feet, rolling my chair away from the desk as I held my arms out for Optimus. The little mech only shook his helm, though.

"I cannot assist you in this endeavor as most of the clothes are twice my height. I will remain here and work on my paperwork." I wondered idly what that paperwork _was._ It wasn't like he had any army-related paperwork to deal with. No matter, I would stay out of his documents just as he generally stayed out of mine. He respected my privacy, and I would return the favor.

"If you're sure," I responded with a shrug. Optimus gave a firm nod.

"I am. Complete your chores. I will be here when you are finished."

With his reassurance, I shrugged again and quit the room. I could hear Billy in his room, talking on the phone, and I knew without a doubt that he was speaking to his fiancée, Amy. I pointedly ignored the cheerful tones as I strode by his room, beating down my jealousy savagely. I _wouldn't_ be jealous of him. Optimus said I had no reason to be. Instead, I threw myself into my chores, taking little time in hefting the dried clothes from the dryer to the couch to be folded and returning to the laundry room to switch the wet clothes into the dryer.

Mom had just washed the blues, which was both a joy and an irritation in my eyes. I wore mostly blue and black, not because I was emo or anything. I just loved the colors, and anytime I ended finding a shirt I liked, it was either in blue, black, or white. Just my luck, I guess. So while it was good that most of my clothes were now washed, it sucked because most of the shirts had to be air dried, which meant more work. With a heavy sigh, I pulled an empty laundry basket over and started sorting clothes.

Our laundry room was small and sat underneath our staircase. The dryer sat against the bottom of the lower staircase, and the washer sat against the wall that held up the top of the staircase. Both machines were front-loaders, which made switching them out easier. I knelt between them as I sorted, tossing dryable clothes into the dryer while air dried clothes were tossed in the laundry basket behind me. Once everything was sorted, I rose to my feet, tossed a dryer sheet into the dryer, and started the drying cycle.

Well, one thing down. This was what I hated about Saturdays, I decided as I propped the laundry basket against my hip. Saturdays were always the days that I had to clean. Ever since he had graduated, Billy hadn't been putting as much work into the kitchen. Instead, Dad had a habit of doing the dishes because my older brother didn't seem to have the time anymore. I would also like to take a moment to note that the sink is currently filled with dishes, my father is due home in thirty minutes, and my brother is upstairs on the phone with his fiancée. Maybe it was just me being bitter, but it didn't seem fair that he could be upstairs chatting away, yet I couldn't be upstairs writing.

Once again, though, I shoved the thoughts away as I strode to the backdoor just behind and to the left of Mom's chair. The Texas heat hit me like a jackhammer, and I wondered if there was even going to _be_ a Fall season this year. After all, it was mid-October, the thirteenth to be specific, and we were still in the mid-nineties. I closed the door behind me firmly as slid the flip-flops abandoned in the shadows onto my feet before striding toward the clothing line in the center of our yard. I set down the basket of clothing and started hanging up the clothes with the clothespins already on the clothing wire.

I suppose this was the best thing about this time of year: it would only take about thirty minutes for these clothes to dry, and they would be soft and warm once they were taken down. There were actually a lot of people in my neighborhood that used these clothing lines, and most of them used the lines for _all_ their clothes. Personally, I didn't enjoy the idea of some creeper finding and/or stealing my underwear simply because I didn't wanna buy a dryer. As it was, I worried sometimes that someone would jump the fence and steal my favorite shirts.

The second I was finished hanging clothes, I grabbed the basket at my feet and walked back inside, abandoning my flip-flops again at the doorstep. I strode inside, ignoring the goosebumps that rose at the drastic change in temperature, and immediately got to work on folding the clothes.

As I worked, I wondered if Billy and Amy were talking about wedding plans. It seemed like that was all Amy ever talked about whenever she came over – speaking of which, she'd be over tonight seeing as she spent weekends at our house in the spare bedroom that connected to the living area downstairs. There was a guest room upstairs, too, if one turned to the left at the apex of the stairs instead of right, which led to my room and the "rec room." My parents didn't want her sleeping upstairs, though, when her room would be so close to Billy's room, which was right across from the stairs. Not that they'd _do_ anything – Amy was much too worried about fitting in her wedding dress to chance getting pregnant – but with my parents, it was better safe than sorry.

I guess it made sense, though. If I were getting married, I'm sure that would be all I'd want to talk about. On top of that, we _were _her future in-laws. We were supposed to be interested in her wedding plans, I suppose. That didn't change the fact that I hated listening to her go on and on about what colors she should have and what flowers and if she needs another bridesmaid and groomsman to make the bridal party look more even. It grated on my nerves sometimes.

"Marie, when you go upstairs, send your brother down to do the dishes before your father gets home," Mom ordered without glancing up from her book. I looked over at her, studying the book in her hands with a barely perceptible frown. The cover of the book held the picture of a blonde woman dressed only in a corset and slip entangled in the arms of a muscular male brunette only wearing pants. The woman had a single hand on the man's bare chest, and she stared up at him with an expression somewhere between naïve curiosity, fear, and awe. Disgusting. In the back of my mind, I hated that my mom read that trash. Maybe my bar was just set too high, but I could stand reading very few of her books.

I responded with a meek "yes, Mom" as I finished folding the last of the clothes and rose to my feet. As per usual, I left the clothes in folded stacks on the couch. My brother and I had an agreement, after all. He takes up the clothes after I fold them, and I put the dishes after he washes them. Win/win for both of us.

"Thank you, Marie," Mom called from her spot on her chair beside the couch, actually looking up at me this time. I shrugged her thanks off. It was my household duty. I got the living room and the laundry, and Billy got the kitchen and the dishes. Seeing my shrug, Mom frowned a little before returning to her book. I randomly wondered if she noticed that I didn't sing anymore as I worked. I quickly shoved that thought to the back of my mind, though. It was inconsequential what my mom noticed. The house was quieter without my racket, and that was probably a good thing, so why should I question it.

A glance at the clock showed that I had been folding for a good fifteen minutes, plenty of time for Optimus to get bored again, and I wondered what sort of strange conversation we'd have once I made it back to my room. It was already surreal enough listening to him tease me about liking his brother, and I was uncertain it could _get_ any stranger than that. I moved up the stairs quickly, skipping every other step effortlessly as I reached the top. I quickly moved across the hall to Billy's door, and I knocked once before announcing flippantly through the wood that Mom wanted him to do his chores. I was already down the hall opening my door by the time he reached his. I closed my door just as he called my name. I knew he wouldn't bother me.

I turned my attention to my desk, and true to word, Optimus was typing away on my smartphone that was about a third his size. His attention stayed focused on the phone even I strode across the room toward the desk he was seated on, and for some reason, this struck me as suspicious. I narrowed my eyes as I reached the desk and hesitantly sat down in the chair before rolling up to the keyboard. I rolled my mouse to terminate the screensaver, and I scowled when I saw what had been done to my document.

_The building was huge and foreboding, and Elisa felt in her very spark that she had just made the dumbest decision ever. She understood Scarlett's curiosity, her need to find answers, but infiltrating the _Autobot's headquarters?_ It was insane. Scarlett might have been convinced that Optimus wouldn't kill them, but Elisa had her own doubts. She had never met this leader, only Scarlett had apparently met him one-on-one. Elisa didn't particularly believe the other female, but even if Scarlett had met him, ripping apart Hoover Dam wasn't the best way for this Optimus Prime to prove his protection for human life._

"_This is a bad idea," Elisa stated hesitantly as she stared up at the looming Autobot fortress._

"_Coward," Scarlett scoffed as she leaned around the other girl. Her door-wings twitched as the wind caressed them. She scowled again, cursing the Allspark and all things Cybertronian over the fact that every gust of winds sent a sensory wave through her wings, and she forced her attention back onto the fortress in front of her. She could see Elisa crossing her arms across her chest, but she shrugged it off. Ellie was a coward that just wanted to hide. Scarlett, however, wanted answers, and she knew that Optimus could give them to her._

"_We should enter from that door over there. They will be less likely to notice us," Prowl observed as he stepped up beside Scarlett, his wings flaring as he sensed his twin's determination._

"Really, Optimus?" I questioned. As I scrolled back through the story, I could see that Optimus had switched out himself and Megatron as well as Autobot for Decepticon through the last three chapters I had written. I would say that he found the "find and replace" button in the Command Ribbon in Word, but it was obvious that he had changed other content to ensure that it matched with Autobot ideals, ideals that Scarlett, Elisa, Prowl, and Liam – who hadn't been mentioned in that last chapter – had mistaken for evil deeds, such as tearing apart Hoover Dam to save three teenagers that were being used as experiments.

"I repaired part of your story," Optimus informed me matter-a-factly. He was smiling, too, like a cat that _knew_ it had done something naughty but knew it wouldn't get in trouble. "I must admit that your plot has quite a few holes, though. How did the children get into the Dam without being discovered until they were… 'zapped,' as you put it, by the Allspark? How did their parents not know of their disappearance?"

"_Optimus_," I groaned, flopping my head and arms onto the desktop in exasperation. "It's a story. Logic doesn't count."

"I disagree," Optimus argued as he approached my head. "Most of your other stories are very well thought out and planned. This is the only exception."

I groaned again as I threw myself back into my chair. "Oh, for the love of—"I cut myself off as I turned my gaze to the severe-looking Personal. "Sometimes, writers feel like writing something Mary-sue, something cliché! It's not like I was going to publish it!"

"That is inconsequential. If you wish to write a cliché plot, then you may, but I will not have a Decepticon sympathizer in my army, Private."

I didn't dignify this with a response. Instead, I simply saved the document and closed the file. If Optimus wanted to play this game, then I would too. I shut down the computer completely, and with an evil grin, I reached around him to grab my phone before rising to my feet, taking my wireless mouse with me. I wheeled the chair away the desk, ignoring Optimus when he called my name, and I plopped onto my bed. I grabbed a nearby spiral and a red pencil and made myself comfortable as Optimus watched, trapped on my desk with nothing to do.

"It's called 'time-out,' Prime," I informed the Autobot commander primly. "It's what happens when you edit my stories without permission."

"Elizabeth, you will escort me to the floor this instant," Optimus ordered in his no-nonsense voice. Ah, wasn't fun once the tables turned, was it?

"Geez, Optimus, I would, but," I gave a mocking sigh, "I can't. It might make my knee hurt."

"Your knee has been healing perfectly. I know because I have been the one to change the bandages and treat it every night."

"And I thank you from the bottom of my heart," I told him sincerely. "But what goes around comes around. Maybe this can be a new hobby for you: figure out how to get around Lizabeth's room without assistance. Good luck."

And with that said, I turned my attention fully on my old story. Optimus remained silent after that, either because he knew it was pointless or because he took my words to spark and actually started devising ways to get off the desk without my assistance. I glanced over every now and again to silently laugh at him as he maneuvered himself around the desk, trying to reach the legs without falling and attempting to use the drawer handles to climb down without said drawers opening. I knew the mech wouldn't hurt himself – Optimus had gotten himself out of worse scraps, to be sure – and it was immensely entertaining to watch him battle the desk like it was some sort of tall plateau that he had been dropped on.

Well, as Mr. Bennett said, "For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?"

Optimus _did_ get down eventually, but by the time he did, I was too wrapped up in my editing to watch him. The only way I knew was by the sudden weight on my bed. I was lying on my stomach, reading through one of my Sideswipe/OC fics when Optimus strode over to my upper body and sat down beside me, reading silently instead of getting back at me. It was something I loved about him: he didn't really do revenge. I glanced over at him with a smile, and he smiled back at me.

A companion indeed.

* * *

**Sora Matasuki: **Dang! Nine years? Big difference! I got three years between me and the older brother, and five between me and Sarah (I can't believe this child is turning 17 this year). I can understand, though. My brother and sister don't really get along at all. And thank you for your prayers. It's going to be an interesting couple of weeks, and not in the good sense, either. :\

**I Am The Silver Lining: **She'll probably watch something with him. Maybe parts of G1 season 2, so that he knows that Elita doesn't die. She won't let him watch the movies, though, as you saw in this chapter. Poor Optimus _is_ the victim a lot, though, isn't he?

**Deception is Decepticon: **I'm glad all y'all liked it. I was worried it was too soon for them to care about each other so much, but then I'd think, 'well, he's kinda bonded to her, so of course, he'd love her.' I love the fluff, though. I couldn't do without it.

**Bliss123: **Very glad you like it! I'm trying to get myself back up to my old writing standard. It's strange how six months kills your writing capabilities. D:

**Nikikt: **I love writing Optimus' mind in this one. It's just hard coming up with new stuff every chapter for him to think about. That's why I don't put a lot into his point of view.

I hear you there. Ever since I came back, I've had so many ideas, and I want so much to add more stuff, but I know that I have to go grow up. I can't be a writer if all I write is fanfiction, you know? I use too many of my good ideas on this website. One day, though, I hope to publish. It just depends on how the tides take me.

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen: **Yeah, sitting out sucks. She'll be at Homecoming, though. That's the important cheer event. :)

**JustaSchmuck: **Well, thank you. I quite like it myself. "Lunar Mist" has that mysterious thing going on. ;) That's definitely one of the primary points I want to make here. She's a cheerleader who's relatively popular and gets good grades, but she's not perfect. She's still lonely, she gets angry, and she still has a lot to learn about life. And I agree. I'd love to have an Optimus. That desire actually spawned this story. It had been a bad day, and I really needed a hug, but no one was around. I wished that Optimus was real at that point. But he wasn't. So I used those emotions to write the first few chapters.

**The Cybertonium Warrior: **Oooh. I feel for you. Once a month, right? Mine's the first Monday of every month. Gonna suck once school starts. PS, does it ever get to the point where it doesn't hurt to eat semi-hard stuff like crackers? This only eating soft stuff and soup is seriously killing me.

**ImpossibleImpact: **Well, hello! I'm glad to meet you, and I'm pleased that you are able to relate to my OC. It's hard to write a person that relatable nowadays. Too many Mary-sues floating around. I'm very glad to keep you entertained, and I hope you keep up with what I send out. :)

**JackFroyo: **Better than Textron or Privatron. Then again… Lizzimus Prime… has a nice ring to it… Congrats on getting the metal permanently from your mouth! I know I look forward to that day, and it's only been a week! And thanks for the prayers. Definitely not an easy time, but it'll get better, right?

And darling. Seriously. I _never_ stop being awesome.

**SunnySides: **I have to agree with you there. Movieverse Optimus is _hot_. Kinda sad that I have it for a robot. Hmm… I think I'd get a Ratchet or a Jazz. Maybe a Sunstreaker. It's a toss-up. Lots of pros and cons. And I'm not certain. Bumblebee won't be coming out until quite late in this story. It is unlikely that he'll use his radio, though, because he had a voice in G1. Once again, though, we'll have to see later in the story.

**Bluefeather4299:** The only other bot that will make an appearance in this will be Bumblebee. As much as I'd love to put other bots in, it wouldn't make sense because Persobots Inc. is a single-base, relatively small business working for multiple different brandnames. DC, Marvel, Mattel, Hasbro. They're all wanting Personals in the image of their characters, and Persobots can only do so many designs at a time. :)

**Liz: **Oh, honey! Well, I hope you get to feeling better. I've only been in the hospital once in the last few years, and I know that it's not fun at all. Your name is ironic, too, considering the main character of this story. ;) I hope you like what I put out today. :)

* * *

How many of you have had someone go through your work and edit without your permission? I think the only time I ever got in a screaming fight with my brother was when he went in a deleted some of my work and edited in his own joking crap. Before I could fix it, he rolled his eyes and exited the document, not hitting save. I lost everything that I had written over the course of three hours. I could've killed him. DX


	11. Horror

1)OMG, guys! I'm not dead! :D

Sorry it took so long! Online French is way harder than I thought it would be. Turns out French words aren't... phonetic, I guess. They don't sound like how they look. On top of that, my ASL teacher is one of _those_ teachers that requires tons of study hours, which means I pretty much living in the campus ASL lab. On top of that, I have some fantastic medical issues I'm taking care of. So yeah. On the bright side, though, my braces don't hurt. :)

2) Before you read this, understand that high school cheerleading is nothing like AllStar cheerleading. We have different rules and different guidelines. In other words, my cheer squad never did the crazy stunts you see in the competitions. A lot of those are actually illegal for high school level, so... you fellow cheerleaders out there, don't pick it apart too much ;)

* * *

**11. Horror**

2,257 words

* * *

_Today was the day. Nationals. This was my first time to go (all my previous coaches only concerned themselves with regionals, state, and football season), and I could feel the excitement buzz through my system. My squad stood around me as we waited off to the right to be called onto the mat. We hadn't had much time to practice before the competition start, but that hardly mattered to me. We had a chance to perform the stunts beforehand, and that was my only concern as I was a firm believer that stunts won a routine. Everything else was water under the bridge._

"_And now," the announcer said, his voice rising above the crowds easily. "Welcome to the mat the West Prep Tigers from Texas!"_

_Adrenaline shot through my veins, and the world sped up around me as my squad spirited onto the spring mat, tumblers cartwheeling and flipping in the front as the non-tumblers followed after them. Spotlights blinded me as I rushed in with the non-tumblers, high off the applause and general energy in the stadium. There were so many people there, and we were gonna blow their minds. I moved to my spot, throwing in an obligatory toe-touch as I settled myself, my whole body tense as I waited for the music to start. The crowd grew quiet as we did, sitting in anticipation to see the group from Texas that was good enough to make it to South Carolina for this huge competition._

_There was a single beat of sound, followed closely by a pre-recorded man announcing, "I'm the best, and there's nothing you can do about it," and we were moving. The music started off fast, 80's songs sped up with extra sound effects thrown in for good measure. Sharp arms moved in tandem, not missing a beat as the song switched over and continued. Girl's transitioned from one spot to another, barely missing each other in the organized chaos of the routine. _

_I easily lost myself to the sport, hips and arms moving in practiced motions as I performed the routine for all I was worth, grinning as widely as the cheerleaders around me. This was our moment, our time to shine. The song transitioned again, and we followed it easily, moving in a confusing and complicated mess of teenage girls to our stunt positions. I nodded to Layla as we locked wrists, my left wrist grabbing her right one as her left wrist grabbed my right in a firm, but loose grip. I gripped my left wrist with my right, and Layla copied my movement. All this happened in the blink of an eye, and we squatted down, fully prepared for our stunt. _

_We were in the center, the mid-routine basket-toss. Clarisse placed her hands on our shoulders and placed all her weight there as she was supposed to. She jumped onto our hands, and we launched her into the air. My eyes followed her as she rose to the peak of her flight, and my arms remained up in the air as she started coming back down after her kick twist._

_Then I was suddenly on the other side of the stadium. I stared in horror as Clarisse landed heavily on the ground; Layla had stepped back, fearful of getting hit, and had run into Madison, preventing her from catching the flyer. Screams rose from the crowd in tandem with Clarisse's and my own, and medics immediately rushed onto the mat._

_Then, just as abruptly as before, I was standing on the mat again, staring down in horror at the broken body of my flyer. A man pushed me out of the way before kneeling down beside the fallen flyer. I stumbled back, my eyes locked on the girl's obviously broken neck. I kept stepping backwards, even after I regained my balance, subconsciously trying to escape the scene that I had caused, the one that stupefied me so soundly._

"_What have you done?!" a shrill voice demanded. Rough hands gripped my shoulders and whirled me around. I stared at Madison blankly, not understanding that it was me she was addressing. "You killed her!" she accused, tears running from her eyes. Maybe tears were running from my eyes, too. I couldn't really tell. "She's dead because of you! It's _your fault!_"_

_It was my fault. I did this. It was my fault. Dear God, what have I done?_

"Elizabeth!"

I jolted awake abruptly, jack-knifing up in my bed as I looked around wildly. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as my eyes darted around the dark room, searching in vain for the point flyer I had just killed. Weight on my left thigh had me scurrying backwards and pressing myself in the back corner of my bed where my headboard met the two connecting walls, dislodging whatever touched me in my panic and sending it crashing to the ground.

"Elizabeth, calm yourself," a commanding, yet gentle voice ordered. Two blue circles of light appeared at the edge of my bed, followed by a robotic body.

Optimus. Optimus had woken me up… Then I didn't kill her.

My breathing slowed as I watched the mech approaching me warily, then it hitched as the adrenaline started leaving my systems. Optimus carefully navigated the bed before coming to a stop in front of me. He didn't touch me as he observed me. I was sure I was deathly pale, and I might have been crying. I couldn't tell. I was too busy trying to force that image of Clarisse from my head.

"Are you alright?" Optimus asked evenly. I nodded fiercely. I was fine. I had had nightmares before, and I would continue having them, no doubt. Everyone had nightmares. Mine just happened to be about me accidentally killing my flyers, the ones I was charged with protecting. They gave me their explicit trust every time they put their foot in my hands, and I returned that trust by stepping back when they need me most, by letting them fall to their deaths.

"Frag," Optimus swore as he stepped onto my thighs and focused on my face. The swear broke me from my reverie, and I realized that I was nearly hyperventilating again. Ah, and I was crying. I could feel the warm drops as they streamed down my face. "Elizabeth, you must calm yourself. Slow your breathing." I tried to obey, focusing my every thought on breathing deeper, slower. It was hard, though, when I felt like my heart was crushing itself. I managed eventually; I couldn't tell how long it took me to calm my breathing. Through it all, Optimus remained silent, patiently waiting for me to compose myself as he balanced himself via hand on my shirt.

"Now… explain to me what the problem is," Optimus prompted. I took a deep breath, and when I let it out, I shook my head.

"I'm fine," I stated, trying to convince myself more than him. "It's was just a bad dream." Optimus' optics narrowed in consternation.

"I disagree. You just spent the last five minutes tossing in your berth, mumbling about how you were a murderer, then you wake up, hyperventing. You cannot lie to me, Private."

"I'm not an Autobot!" I burst out. I didn't want to be. An Autobot didn't murder her friends every other night. Optimus scowled at my statement, though.

"Be that as it may, you are still under my protection," the little Autobot Commander responded. I stared at him, frowning deeply as I finally took in his appearance in the dim light of my night light. His armor was scuffed a little, probably from where I had dumped him off the bed in my confusion, and his optics were rather dim in comparison to normal.

He was worried about me.

For some reason, that completely blew my mind. I knew that I had noticed this before, if just in passing, but Optimus was completely loyal to me, his only friend in this world. Instead of feeling inadequate, though, I felt… special. He had woken me up from that nightmare because he _cared_, and it completely threw me for a loop, especially since I had been convinced that _nobody_ cared. I knew that he was supposed to take care of me, that he had to be a companion, but the fact that he was apparently beginning to accept me as his own, as a non-Autobot, made me feel important… and wanted.

"Have you ever…" I trailed off when I realized how stupid the question I was about to ask was. 'Had Optimus ever had a nightmare about making a mistake that would kill one of his friends?' How dumb! He probably had _made_ such a mistake during his early years as a commander. How tactless would it be if I straight out asked such a question?

"Have I ever what?" Optimus prompted. I shook my head again, though.

"Nothing," I whispered, but Optimus wasn't having that.

"Finish your question or explain the situation, Elizabeth. I cannot help you if you will not let me in."

That statement struck me. How long had it been since I let someone in, since I allowed someone else to carry my problems? Dylan, I trusted with my school drama, and I told my dad was my rock at home; at least, he was before he started working nights. Mom was in her romance novels, and Billy was planning a wedding and preparing to move out.

"I have bad dreams sometimes," I told Optimus dimly. The mech frowned and remained silent, optics locked on my hazel eyes as he waited for me to continue. I was hesitant as I did. "How do you deal with the fear that you're gonna end up making a mistake that hurts someone else?"

Optimus seemed surprised by my question, but he barely let it show. I was fairly certain that the only reason I could read any of his emotions was because of his lack of recharge. His optics dimmed a little at my question, and I felt guilty for asking it. In his position, any decision he made could kill a battalion of Autobots, making his job one of the most stressful.

"Accidents happen, Private. Accidents, mistakes, and wrong decisions happen. We are not infallible creatures, humans and cybertronians alike. All we can is try our hardest to make sure we are alert at all times so that any could-be accidents are prevented. Then, if an accident does occur, we clean it up to the best of our abilities, give our apologies, and move on. Focusing on what _could_ happen will only destroy you."

I nodded slowly as I stared at the small robot, taking in his sincere blue optics as they gazed back up at me with emotions I had never thought I would see on him. He smiled as he stood on his tippy-toes so that he could wipe my tears away, and I allowed him to, even slouching down a little. As he wiped those away, though, more suddenly came.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as I pulled my knees up behind him. I repeated the apology as my tears rained down on him. "I always hurt them."

"Only in your night terrors, Private," Optimus responded, easily shifting his body as I wrapped my arms around my knees.

"But what if I hurt them in real life? What if I drop her?" Clarisse's broken neck flashed through my mind again, the sound of her lungs whistling as they expelled the last breath of air her brain had requested before connection abruptly cut off. Optimus gave me a sad sort of smile.

"Would you _allow_ yourself to hurt them? Would you ever let her hit the floor?" I slowly shook my head. I wouldn't. I would rather break an arm or a leg trying to catch her because it wouldn't be as painful as hearing that wheezing breath, as seeing those terrified eyes blink that last time as her brain figured out that it wasn't getting any oxygen. "Then you should not worry. You will keep them safe."

I didn't believe him, not completely. I knew that for the rest of the year, I would have this fear inside me, that I would be concerned until the end of Nationals, once cheer season ended. Until then, I could count on him to comfort me.

"Optimus… could you… stay here tonight?" I whispered, feeling like a child for asking such a thing. I normally went to my dad when I had nightmares like this, but until Dad started working days again… I could let Optimus help me; I could let him in.

"Of course, Private," he responded, allowing me to lift him up as I scooted back down under the covers. I laid him on my chest as I settled down on my back and yawned a little as I felt exhaustion creep up on me. I was almost asleep when I realized something.

"You called me Elizabeth," I mumbled sleepily, putting my chin to my chest as I looked at the blue optics gazing back up at me.

"I apologize if I—"

"No, no. I don't mind it if you say it. You make it sound pretty," I told him with a lethargic smile. Optimus didn't reply, or if he did, I wasn't awake to hear it, but for the rest of that night and every night after, he slept either on my chest of on my pillow, effectively fighting my nightmares away.

* * *

**The Cybertonium Warrior:** Meh, I understand now. I'm lucky right now, because I only have my top ones on. I rip hard stuff with my bottom incisors and suffer through chewing. I dread when they decide to put on my bottoms, though.

**Link's Rose:** Hey, hey! I'm the 11th! Gonna be 21 on a Saturday this year! :D And's it's okay. I think reviewing is becoming a dying act. I don't even review very often anymore. I'm very happy you're enjoying the story, though. :)

**ImpossibleImpact: **I really wanted to write this side of him. There are so many facets of Optimus Prime that are OOC, yet not… I love exploring those facets. n.n It only happened once with me, the thing with my brother, that is. He never touched my computer again after that.

**I AM The Silver Lining: **I could see him being like that with Elita sometimes. It seems cute to me. X3

**Autobot Phoenix: **See, I'm careful with all my written stuff. I generally keep my more edgy stuff in spirals due to paranoia, so I never let anybody near my (literally) written work.

**Bliss123:** Yeah. Her mom's kind of distant, but it'll work out in the end, sorta… depending on what ending I decide on. I used to keep my work on a flashdrive, but I am so scared that I'm going to lose it. Besides, after that one occurance, my brother doesn't touch my laptop anymore. "Don't doubt yourself." You have no idea how much it means to hear one of y'all say that. I stress too much. -_-"

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen: **Lol, I was happy to not be on the Homecoming Court. Too much work. I got to keep up with all the mini-cheerleaders. That was an adventure, trying to keep a hundred little girls seated on the sidelines. Fun, though. If you get on the court, I hope you win! (assuming it hasn't passed yet. My alma mater's homecoming was today.) I'm rooting for you in Texas! Woot woot!

**Deception is Decepticon: **"Miss in the back, care to share the joke with everyone?"

"Oh, this girl has a mini-Optimus Prime, and he's messing with her head."

"Ah… And the logarithm…" I'm the same way with some of the stories I read during A&P last semester.

**Crescentrax: **Daw, thanks! I was hesitant in publishing it, because I was worried everyone would not like my mildly OOC Optimus moment. I mean, he was still _in_ character, sorta, but not quite… And yeah. Glad you liked it. :)

XD And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don't write smut. Kissing and aggressive cuddling is as far as I can go. Throw in some innuendo and allusions, and I'm good. FF has too much smut as it is. ;)

**SunnySides: **XD He'd have such an adorable time-out pout, too. And we shall see. That's too far in the future, I think. *nod nod*

**Bluefeather4299:** Heh. Leaving Prime on the desk was probably the only form of payback she could possibly give. Poor short guy. X)

**ShiftFrame: **Sorry it's so late, but here's an update for you.

* * *

And yes, Private Tex uses a night light. Personally, I have discovered after stubbing my toe multiple times on my furniture while moving toward the door that the mild embarrassment received when someone teases you about having said nightlight is far better than the initial pain of a stubbed toe.

Short and sweet. Didn't have much time for more. As it is, I'm being distracted by the smells of food wafting up the staircase. So for my question today: Have any of y'all had that one fear that someone will get hurt because you weren't paying attention or something? I remember having nights like this in high school after a girl went home with a concussion after our first stunting practice. I can say that the girl wasn't in my stunt - I was on the other side of the gym, in fact, practicing jumps - and the last time a flyer in my stunt hit the ground was in ninth grade, but as captain, I felt responsible because I should've asked coach to be a spotter. That girl wouldn't have hit the ground if I had been there. Irrational, non? I call it my Optimus-fear, cuz he would totally be that way. "I was on the opposite side of Iacon in a Senate meeting, but I should've been in Kaon to keep that drunk from being mugged. D'X"


	12. Through the Fire

Salut tout le monde! Comment ça va? Moi? Je ve très bien, mais une peu fatiguée. Merci! Mon cours du français est difficile, but I'm having fun learning. For those of you that know French, don't yell at me for my atrocious grammar in the above sentences. I'm actually pretty proud of my meager skills. :)

Anywho, sorry for the wait. Mid-terms are coming up and I am in no way ready. Plus, both my teachers expect me to have all this free time to sacrifice for the languages, and I don't, so I'm kinda treading water here. It doesn't help that I _really_ want to write a Bring Me Peace chapter about my college issues, because I really, really need an Optimus right now, but alas, our Private Elizabeth "Tex" Campbell is still in high school. Le sigh.

**Warning: Contains PTSD. You have been warned.**

Sorry, by the way, for putting two angsty chapters back-to-back. These things write themselves, and I figured you'd rather have an angsty chapter now than have a normal chapter in a week or two.

**Please vote in my new poll.**

* * *

**12. Through the Fire**

3,933 words

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There was silence, complete silence as his troops stared up at him. This wasn't anything new. After all, he had given many a speech like this in his past. Rescue missions were normally done by Special Ops, but when fighting an enemy like this… greater force was needed. Optimus knew, though, that forcing these warriors to fight this battle, a battle they might not win, was unfair. Hence this meeting. So as a small multitude of admiring eyes stared up at him, he began his speech.

"Many of you have fought for me before, and many of you have had successful battles. You should know, though, that this army – this _fight – _will not be easily defeated. Despite this, I cannot condone leaving our royal leader in the hands of the enemy." Optimus paused for dramatic effect here, giving his troops time to focus on him again.

"I know many of you are worried, and some of you may not return, so I offer you this: if you do not wish to fight, I will allow you to stay here and protect our base from attack," Optimus stated, and he paused again to allow his troops a chance to weigh the two options.

Despite the familiarity of speech he was giving, Optimus was forced to admit that he had never commanded bots like these. The small army before him was young and untrained, and he worried that would hurt him, worried that would cause they're deaths. Still, he could not leave that femme to die. Her death would mean many things to his new army, and none of those things were good.

"We're in to the end, Op'mus!" one femme with curly blond pigtails and wide blue eyes announced loudly.

"Yeah! We'll rescue Miss Liz!" another femme with a brown French braid agreed. At this point, the rest of the little girls called out agreements, and Optimus felt himself smile. Another thing that was reminisce of his old army: everyone was always behind him one hundred percent. He had always given these speeches before most battles, second-guessing himself and his plans. Prowl had always encouraged him, taking those rough plans and transforming them into some spectacular. Still, Optimus always feared losing a battle, because most battle plans were ultimately from his own processor, regardless of what Prowl said.

"Very well, troops. Begin the attack!" Prime ordered. The little girls , all dressed as pixies, gave joyful shrieks, battle cries, and whoops as they turned as one to rush the castle, Optimus grinning as he watched them sprint away with their cardboard weapons in hand.

The day had been rather quiet, a slow Wednesday with only twenty-something girls. Of course, Karen, the Glam & Glamour manager, hadn't sent any of the Glamour Girls home, so the teacher: student ratio was obscenely high. There were currently four Glamour Girls on the floor: a sorceress, a popstar manager, a popstar, and Private Elizabeth, who was playing the role of the fairy queen who had been captured by the evil sorceress. Optimus wasn't really sure _why_ Elizabeth had been kidnapped, just that she had been. Generally speaking, the fairy queen or princess of the day _always_ got kidnapped. Optimus supposed it was much like how the Decepticons were _always_ stealing energon: they just couldn't think of anything better to do. He supposed it didn't matter in this case. As long as the little ones were entertained, they would continue with whatever was entertaining them.

"Mister Prime! Mister Prime!"

The sound of a small femme voice brought Optimus out of his thoughts, and he looked down to see a three-going-on-four-year-old with brown curls staring up at him with a wide smile and sparkling hazel eyes. Optimus had situated himself on a short table in the trunk of the fairy tree, a small room dedicated to arts and crafts, to give his speech. It was difficult getting to this spot, but he figured that he should be accustomed to such huge gaps in distance due to his new height. After all, he battled stairs every day.

"Yes, Kylie?" Optimus responded gently, gaining a giggle from the youngster.

"Mister Prime, aren't you gonna help us fight Miss Katie?" Katie was the resident sorceress for the day. Optimus smiled at her, though she probably couldn't tell. He kept his facemask on whenever he was around other humans. It seemed right, for some reason, to only retract his mask around Elizabeth. It was a habit he had picked up during his days as Optimus Prime, scientific, religious, and political leader of Cybertron. He had always kept his mask on during those cycles, never wanting another politician to see his emotions and use them against him.

"Of course," he agreed. "I will need your assistance getting down, though."

Kylie giggled loudly as she trotted forward, watching Optimus as he climbed down off the stack of books Elizabeth had set up for him as a staircased platform of sorts. Optimus approached the edge of the table and bore the sticky hands with practiced grace as Kylie helped him to the ground.

"My gratitude, Lady Kylie," Optimus thanked, gaining another giggle from the little girl. Optimus knew that most of his words went straight over these girls' heads, but he retained his dignity nonetheless. Besides, according to Private, these girls understood tone and would eventually figure out what his long words meant via context and adult assistance.

Kylie didn't wait for Optimus after helping him down, choosing instead to run away toward the castle after picking up her fake sword. Optimus smiled as he trotted after her. The scene he walked out on was amusing to say the least. Little girls were scattered through the vast G&G building, each weakly play-fighting with another. Little cardboard swords smacked cardboard shields, and weak insults were passed. They were, no doubt, copying fights from cartoons they watched. This was further evidenced by one girl suddenly shouting, "Fire of Sirenix!" The little girl put her hands together and thrust them in her "enemy's" direction. The girl she was "fighting" gave a fake cry of pain and staggered back before putting on an angry face and "retaliating."

Over all, it appeared to be a rather successful battle in G&G terms. No crying, no arguing, and every girl involved appeared to be having fun. A glance up at the top of the castle showed Katie and Elizabeth watching over the girls from above on the balcony that jutted out of the castle's second story. Elizabeth caught my gaze and grinned at me. Her face was still healing, the black and blue bruise on her eye covered liberally with makeup. There was barely any swelling, and she was cleared for work. Katie glanced at Elizabeth then followed her gaze to Optimus.

"Aha!" she called out, her strong, mock evil voice easily rising over the din. "I see our fearless avenger has come for his princess! You will not be successful!"

Optimus grinned back. "You over-estimate yourself as usual, witch! I will rescue my queen!" Optimus disagreed, raising the volume on his vocalizer to be heard over the battling pixies and witches.

"You assume she will be alive when you reach her!" Katie shouted back.

"Commander!" a nearby seven-year-old called out. "Save Queen Lizzia! We'll cover you!"

Optimus wondered mildly where the child had heard such a phrase as the latter, but he didn't question it, choosing instead to follow her suggestion. He rushed across the battleground, easily dodging small feet connected to children that were still taller than he. The castle was easy to get into, the distinct lack of door making it easier to storm than past Decepticon bases. It helped that all the "guards" were currently battling his "warriors." No one paid him any mind as he approached the staircase.

The staircase…

Primus, how he hated stairs.

Still, he had a part to play, and by Primus, he would be successful. He tackled the task as he normally did, hooking his knee on the next stair and pulling himself up. These stairs were about the same height as the ones at home – about half his height – and there were nineteen of them in all. He had to dodge to the far left of the staircase, close to the wall, when two little girls rushed down, fighting over dramatically with their swords and shields as they ran. Optimus thought about stopping them and reminding them not to run on the stairs, but he figured they wouldn't listen anyways. That had been something he had learned when Bumblebee was on the Ark: little ones didn't listen well, much less remembered those lectures, when they were playing.

By the time Optimus reached the top of the staircase, the battle outside was dying down – boredom, perhaps? – and all the "guards" were now outside. Optimus wasted no time in hurrying around the top of the staircase toward the open alcove that led to the balcony. As expected, Katie was facing the balcony entrance, a hand grasping Elizabeth's arm threateningly. Elizabeth was giving Katie a wry look, obviously trying not to smile, and Optimus wondered what they had been talking about before he arrived.

"I see you finally made it through my forces," Katie observed, pausing to send a puff of air up to her bangs, which were slowly inching their way down from where she had them pinned back under her black hood attached to her long velvet cape. "Still, you are defeated."

"I will defeat you and rescue my queen," Optimus disagreed. "It is _you_ that will fall!"

"I doubt that. Look below," Katie ordered, stepping to the side with a sweeping gesture to reveal the hard, carpeted floor a floor below them. Little girls dressed as pixies laid on the ground, limbs askew and faces holding exaggerating expressions of "death," tongues sticking out and eyes staring straight ahead. A few giggled, all of them blinked, and a good majority shifted on the uncomfortable floor while trying to retain their "dead" look. Each of them was breathing. Each of them was obviously still alive.

So why did they all suddenly look dead to him?

In the back of his mind, he could hear Katie say, "Your forces are scattered, your warriors fallen." None of the words really stuck, though, moving in one audio receptor and out the other as he stared at a scene that was growing far more gruesome with every passing second.

Flesh slowly faded to Cybertronian metal compounds uniquely made to support young life. Hair fell off and was replaced by small helms, and clothes turned into armor, fake chiffon fairy wings transforming into metal winglets and door nubs. Pointed witch shoes became little pedes, and black witch capes became thin, mesh blankets that once covered and warmed the little ones they were placed over.

The balcony gave him height, a great distance between the sparkling-cover floor and his optics that made him feel thirty feet tall again, and in his mind's eye, he could see the flames rising around the little bodies, smoke polluting the air and cutting down visibility. His processor subconsciously replayed the audio that matched the scene, adding the crackling to the flames, screams to the horror he stood over.

"_Optimus, what are your orders?" Ironhide asks, even as the other bots around him swiftly start searching through the rubble that was once the Youth Sectors of Iacon. Optimus opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. _

_This was _his_ fault._

His. Fault.

_Elita had warned him that something like this could happen. Prowl had crunched the numbers and backed her, but he had refused. They couldn't spare the troops. That had been a true fact. They had just barely won an offensive against the Decepticons, the first they had won, actually, and it had all been thanks to their newest tactician: Prowl, who had joined after Megatron brutally razed his homecity to the ground. Prowl and a black and white mech named Jazz that had only just been transferred to Optimus' base as a special operations mech. He had come highly recommended, and he hadn't disappointed._

_Now that he thought about it, Jazz had volunteered to take a small group of ops mechs behind the enemy lines to find out what Megatron was up to, to find out if they could determine if the Youth Sectors were, indeed, in danger. Optimus had said no. He needed the mech power to help find survivors on the battle field and city they had been fighting to protect. And true to his beliefs, every single mech was needed. Maybe that should have comforted him a little bit. _

_It didn't._

"_Optimus?" a gentle female voice called out. It threw the Autobot leader for a loop, because such a voice didn't match with this memory. The femme contingent was currently in Protihex, checking on the youth sector located there. Besides, this voice didn't sound familiar at all._

"_Optimus, we're moving to the next building," a veteran soldier called Splitshaft informed the young leader. Optimus attempted to force the shell-shocked haze from his mind, but the klik he managed to, the mech's words processed in his mind._

"_There were no survivors." In Optimus' mind, this had been fashioned as a question, yet it came out as a bland statement. He hadn't searched himself, after all, too wrapped up in his guilt. He _should have_ been searching. Primus, how selfish was he! To be standing around, staring at the wreckage like a drone while his soldiers searched through the rubble, forced to see the offlined frames of sparklings and femmes alike. What must his soldiers think of him? Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knew they couldn't think any lower of him than he thought of himself. There were many times Optimus had hated himself during his years as Autobot leader, but none so much as this time._

"_Optimus," Ironhide called gently, his optics holding a deep concern that was rarely seen in public. Optimus looked over at his body guard and life-long friend. He couldn't even remember the cycle that Ironhide had come into his life; the red mech had simply _always_ been there. The look in his optics was one that was familiar, a look that said, "You'll get through this." Optimus wasn't so sure, though._

"_Optimus? Are you okay?" That female voice rose above the din again, but Optimus ignored it; Ironhide was speaking again._

"_Prime, if you need to go back to the ship, I can—"_

"_No," Optimus interrupted. "This is my duty," he added as he stepped away from Ironhide and toward the next building. He heard the security officer sigh before following after him, probably to try to talk him out of searching with his warriors. He wouldn't succeed, though. It wouldn't be fair to his soldiers for them to have to experience this nightmare while their leader lounged around in the ship. No, he would see this through to the end, even if it broke his spark when it was all over._

"_Optimus!"_

He blinked, optics offlining and rebooting as that female voice yanked him from his memory loop. Deep azure optics met terrified hazel orbs, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a dark mixture of emotions – fury, sadness, concern – unfurled at the sight of fear in those eyes, eyes that were important for a reason he could not seem to place. He was not acquainted with any living organics; the last ones he met had died nearly a millennium ago when Megatron destroyed their planet in order to commandeer their space bridge.

"Optimus, are you okay?" the organic femme… Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth. Just like that, everything snapped into the proper prospective. He was at Glam & Glamour, a business that catered to little girls whose parents were busy and needed someone to watch over their children. The girl – nearly a woman – that was leaning over him – why was he sitting down? – was his owner, the femme that had purchased him to become her companion. The green chiffon cocktail dress she wore, matched up with the red chiffon fairy wings, told Optimus that he glamour gift of the day was magic, or in layman's terms, she was a fairy for the day.

"What happened?" Optimus asked seriously as he struggled to regain his bearings. Elizabeth shook her head.

"I don't know. You just froze up after looking at the lower floor," she told him, her voice catching a little as she spoke. He frowned when he saw a tear fall from her left eye. He had panicked her. He had caused her to cry. He had sworn to never hurt her. Yet _another_ shortcoming. Could he _nothing_ right?

"Optimus, stop that!" Elizabeth ordered suddenly, startling him from his dismal thoughts. He opened his mouth to question her, but she cut him off. "You always have that look, like your world is falling apart because you made a mistake. What happened out there, Optimus?" his human asked, her voice holding a bit of warning in it. It was ironic how much she sounded like Elita in that moment.

Elita. Primus, what he would give to see her, to confide in her. He allowed a wry grin to rise to his face at the thought of that. She'd tell him he was being foolish, wallowing over deaths that he wouldn't have been able to prevent, even if he _had_ sent those troops. She had said as much when she found out about the massacre he had searched through cycles before she had come up on her own Youth Sector massacre in Protihex.

Elita would have liked Elizabeth.

"When I saw the girls on the floor… it brought up a memory loop… of the Youth Sector attacks," Optimus stated blandly, emotion sinking out of the sentence as he fought to keep his mind from falling back into that loop. As it was, flashes of small, dark optics and crackling flames flitted through his mind. Elizabeth stiffened and gave a short breathless gasp.

"They programmed you with that?" she asked, horrified. Optimus grimaced at her words. They made him feel… fake, which was correct. He was not living. He was _not_ that Optimus Prime… yet he was. The paradox that was _him_ looped through his processor only twice before he violently shut down the train of thought. "That wasn't your fault," Elizabeth stated after a few moments of silence. Optimus had to take a moment to remember what they had been speaking about before his processor had uncharacteristically wandered. When he was back on track, he chuckled belatedly at his human's statement.

"I suppose you know this because you were there?" he asked his voice holding more humor than sarcasm. He could never be cruelly sarcastic to Private. Elizabeth shifted bringing him back away from her chest to sit him on the table she was seated at. Now that it was brought to his attention, he could see that he was in G&G's bland break room. It was a small room, barely eight by eight feet with a single soda vending machine and a snack machine. Pushed against the far wall was a four by four table with three folding chairs opened on three sides of it. Elizabeth was seated on a chair that sat against the wall, and he was currently seated on the table.

"Optimus, I highly doubt you suggested to Megatron that the Youth Sectors would make a good target," Elizabeth responded evenly. Optimus grimaced at her wording.

"I doubt Megatron ever needed help picking out a target," the commander noted, ever happy to steer the girl from the current conversation. He didn't particularly _want_ to talk about this to her; what would she think when she found out that he practically sent those sparklings and femmes to their deaths when sending them to those Youth Sectors, places that were supposed to be "safe?"

"Optimus, that's not the point, and you know it," Elizabeth stated lowly. The Autobot leader turned his gaze up to her, meeting her concern with his hesitance.

"Prowl and Elita both warned me the attack could and likely would happen," Optimus stated after a brief moment of silence. "Instead of sending troops ahead, I kept everybot behind to help find survivors in the city that had been attacked."

"So you made a decision on sound facts rather than the unproven theories. You _knew_ there would be survivors in that city, yet you could not be sure Megatron was going to attack the Youth Sectors."

"I should have sent mechs there preemptively to defend them," Optimus responded, rising to his feet to pace before the taller being. "I should have known they were in danger."

"And risked lives you _knew_ were in danger? Optimus, the whole point of those Youth Sectors were that they _were_ safe. You took steps while creating them to make sure they _were_. You couldn't have known that Megatron would overrun them."

"But I _should have_. This shouldn't have happened," Optimus mumbled, more to himself than to the teenager staring down at him.

"Optimus, then people in that city would have died," Elizabeth reasoned. Optimus scowled beneath his mask, optics squinting irritably as he stopped his circuit to glare up at his human.

"And the_ deaths _of_ thousands _of_ femmes _and_ sparklings _is an exchange_?"_ Optimus demanded, his voice raising to a shout. Elizabeth's eyes went wide at the unusual action, and her mouth clamped together, lips pressing into a thin line. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, Elizabeth's expression blank while Optimus' ranged from pain to surprise at himself to concern to self-loathing. He gave a deep sigh as he turned his gaze to the ground, shamed by his actions. Elizabeth was his only friend in this world, the only creature he could call his. She was only trying to help, yet he shut her down, just as he had done so many times to Elita when she tried to convince him that the Youth Sector Genocide was ultimately Megatron's fault and that Optimus could not take any blame.

"Optimus…" Elizabeth called out gently. Optimus turned his gaze back to those hazel orbs and found, to his surprise, compassion and understanding there. "I know nobody can change your mind but you. Until you figure it out… I'm here for you."

And that was, strangely enough, similar to what Elita had ultimately said. It was comforting to know that she didn't feel the need to press him. Ratchet would have. Ironhide would have. Ultra Magnus would have argued and argued until he was convinced Optimus believed he was the infallible leader everybot else seemed to think he was. He liked knowing that this girl in front of him didn't think of him that way. He could mess up, and she wouldn't judge him. She would acknowledge the mistake and move on instead of ignoring it and putting the prime on a pedestal like his soldiers had so many times before. Optimus allowed himself a small smile and retracted his mask so that he could share it with the one person that was important to him. Elizabeth gave him a weak smile back and held out her arms to him. Optimus was fairly certain the hug was more for her comfort than his, but he walked into her arms and suffered the cuddling nonetheless.

"Private, I believe you have earned a new rank. How does Specialist Elizabeth sound?" Elizabeth snorted at his words but replied with a smile. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

**A Wiccan:** Eh heh. Yeah, but at least I wasn't gone for six months this time! :D If I could perfect time management, I would be totally set.

**Sora Matasuki: **I hear you there. I'm glad I don't have nightmares anymore. Now, I just have weird dreams about being lost in huge malls that have evil clowns and random slides. Weird dreams.

**I Am The Silver Lining:** I think your review is kinda ironic because I didn't remember that you had mentioned that until I was going through review replies after I finished writing. Not really a nightmare, but will a day…mare do?

**Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen:** Meh, it's easier on the sidelines. Be happy you were considered. I think I got, like, ten votes, and the whole high school votes. Not even close to winning. Oh, well. It was fun hanging with the mini-cheerleaders.

**Leonixon: **I seriously need to try to make a Optimus plushie. It must be done! It may not look good, but it will be an Optimus plushie, and the world will suddenly be a good place.

**ImpossibleImpact: **Oh, my goodness! I can't even imagine hitting someone with a disk. Those things are heavy, too! Geez. I feel for your teammate! He's lucky a concussion was all he got. :(

**Bliss123: **Thank you for your compliments! I always worry when I'm putting one of these up. This story makes me so nervous! I don't even know why! DX

**SunnySides: **See, I _used_ to have Transformers posters on my walls, but I started having dreams where they were alive, and it freaked me out cuz I felt like they were judging me whenever I was in the room. I had to stop changing in there, and I eventually started hanging out in my brother's room because they freaked me out so much. My Red Alert paranoia and overactive imagination go overboard sometimes. But I don't think I could sleep with an action figure. Too many pokey parts. I don't get how Elizabeth (Tex) can sleep with a Personal. I feel like it'd be uncomfortable. Plus, I'd be too self-conscious. I mean, seriously, what if you fart when you sleep?

* * *

"Fire of Sirenix" belongs to Winx Club, which the girl I babysit has suddenly become enamored with.

I always saw Optimus as that guy that was forced onto a pedestal by his troops and always felt pressured by it. That song, uh... "Kryptonite" or "Superman" or something. I think it's by Three Doors Down. I could see Optimus jamming to that song while he's drinking heavily after a bad battle. (which is super depressing) Just my headcanon that Optimus loves and hates his roles as Autobot commander, much like Rodimus, the difference being his mentor, Sentinel, never let Optimus have the freedom Hotrod had, so he never really knew that he could escape his role as future prime. Am I making sense? Any of y'all have a Optimus headcanon that's not necessarily supported by canon?

**Please vote in my new poll. You have up to three votes, i believe.**


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